


Lady Sharpe's Wedding Night

by evieplease



Category: Crimson Peak (2015) RPF
Genre: Bisexual, Child Death, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Crimson Peak Inspired, Multi, NSFW, Polyamory, Polygamy, Pregnancy, Romance, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, consenting adult incest, writing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: A Victorian-ish story of a young lady of quality who winds up married to the exquisite, dominating Sir Thomas Sharpe discovers what a wedding night is. But first she meets her strange new sister-in-law.This story has evolved from my original plotline. It was intended to be just the wedding night, but we've moved on to adjusting to Edith's new home and life. And Sister.





	1. Chapter 1

Sir Thomas Sharpe is my Husband.

I swallow, the very idea still so outlandish, so absurd, but we were indeed wed this day. Bizarre enough! But then the idea that I am now Lady Sharpe - oh, ridiculous! How could I ever live up to that?! I am no ‘Lady’, I am just a simple American girl, albeit a very strictly reared and sheltered girl. I know nothing of being a 'Lady’, but, I console myself, I know nothing of being a 'Wife’ either. I suppose I shall have to learn both roles simultaneously… I will strive not to disappoint my new…Husband. Somehow, I can’t help thinking that word capitalized. Husband. I shake my head chidingly at my thoughts. Sir Thomas strikes me as a man who always knows exactly what he wants, and will move heaven and earth to get it. I suppose if he had wanted a more…worldly woman to wife, he would have found one.

But somehow, he wanted me. I can’t imagine why. I’m just a mousy little thing, shy and small and inarticulate aloud, for all my facility with the written word. I shiver in fear that my secret defiance should be discovered. That I have been writing 'penny dreadfuls’ for the last three years. Under a Nom de Plume, of course, but my alter ego has become quite well known, and even celebrated. I even have a secret Editor who sees to all the business for me so that my secret remains safe. Well-bred Young Ladies do not become celebrated authoresses, nor flaunt themselves in public. It simply wouldn’t do. But for these three years I have been flouting social convention, pouring all my frustrated virginal romantic yearnings into my little books.

My parents would be horrified, scandalized to learn that I am the authoress of these books. My mother once caught our cook reading one of my books. I was rather flattered that she had let the Sunday joint scorch, so engrossed had she been in my tale. But one would have thought that Lucifer himself had fallen into our kitchen to deliver my little book to Mrs. Hudson, for all the fooraw that Mama created over it. My poor sister and I, along with all the female staff had sat through hours of sermonizing from Mama on the evils of reading Romances, how it would destroy our delicate sensibilities, and our morals, not to mention our marriage prospects. By the end Mama was nearly prostrate with hysteria, and Papa ordered her to her rooms. Evidently Mama was wrong, for here I am, not just married, but married well.

I am not ashamed of my little books, they have been well received, and have brought me a tidy little pension, as well as giving me an outlet from my strictly circumscribed little world. Without which I would have surely gone mad in the most unbecomingly dramatic fashion. I am only sorry that poor Mrs. Hudson was let go without a reference for the very great sin of being a woman whilst reading.

No, I am not ashamed, only cognizant of the fact that if my parents had ever discovered my little…abnormality, they would have most assuredly disowned me. Or worse, clapped me in the attic like crazy Aunt Lizzie, for the rest of my born days. I knew this, and yet, I persisted. And now I find myself with a terrible dilemma. I know that as a good and obedient wife I should reveal my perversion to my new Husband, but my soul quails at the very idea. I don’t know what to do, so I push the decision off until some future date. I shiver again. For now I have more… pressing concerns.

I sit at the vanity in my new rooms, brushing out and braiding my hair in preparation for bed. It is my wedding night. I recall Mama’s little lecture as she helped me dress for my wedding. She had stammered and blushed, perambulating around the subject she wished to discuss with me in such a maddening fashion that I had actually snapped at her to get to the point. Mama had turned a frightening shade of puce before- finally!- blurting out that my 'Husband would require certain… things’ of me on our wedding night, and that as a proper obedient wife, I would allow his 'transgression’ upon my body. Upon which point she had refused to elaborate further, much to my frustration and confusion. Honestly! Why cannot anyone say what they mean in plain Queen’s English?? Especially women. Would not the whole world be a better, brighter, more understandable place should women be encouraged to know and speak their minds? Once again, my mind, my soul, even my body quailed, shrank at my own audacity… my heresy, at even considering the possibility that the 'female mind’, my 'female mind’ ought to have… an expressed opinion. On anything. Society would consider me to be outré, at the very least.

I wonder what Mama could possibly have meant by 'transgressions upon my body’. I heaved a deep breath as I stared back at the pale, blonde girl in the elaborate gilt looking glass. My fingers stilled on my braid, my breath stilled in my lungs. I think I might be afraid. The peculiar golden chocolate colored pair of eyes stared back at me from the glass. What am I doing here? How have I married the most beautiful, the most perfect man I have ever met??

Not that my parents ever allowed me to meet many young men. Most of the men with whom I had acquaintance were elderly business associates of Papa’s. Sir Thomas was also one of Papa’s business associates, though not elderly at all. Papa had invited him to supper. Those alternately blazing and…strangely tender, bluest eyes. The pale, pale complexion contrasting whitely with his thick, lightly pomaded, blackest-night curls. In conjunction with… I blush to even think of it in my most private mind… his physical form is… exquisite. There’s no other word for his physique. Long, and slim with it, broad shoulders and broadly spread legs, he commands every space he occupies. The bright blue piercing gaze, that seemed to see through to the depths of my soul, ferreting out my darkest secrets. The stern, yet somehow softly understanding set of his mouth. 

On occasion I had chanced to look up at him, catching his eyes, my breath utterly congealed in my chest at the hungry blaze shining back at me from those blue orbs. He, he terrifies me, yet fascinates me. I am the tiny fly caught in the adherent web of the most alluring, beguiling, hungry spider. I know not whether he will caress me or devour me whole. I only know that my body, my dreams, have not been my own since he first set eyes on me. The first time his eyes met mine my body nearly convulsed, such shock did I feel at the contact. This utterly foreign, unfamiliar sensation low in my belly… never have I had such a physical, visceral reaction to anything. Or anyone. His close presence nearly makes my hair stand on end, my skin erupt in goose-bumps, and something strange and… dangerous, coils and tightens inside me. And I have this day promised before God to give myself to him forever, promised him obedience and dominion over me. May God, and Sir Thomas have mercy on my soul!

I straighten my spine. I am his bride, and I will behave as his good and obedient lady wife, as befits his station, and the respect I owe him as my lord and master. And for the -dare I say it?- love I bear him. I have no word for this strange, deep yearning for him, but it is his, in it’s entirety.

A perfunctory rap comes on my bedchamber door, startling me back into awareness of the sumptuous rooms in which I reside. Without waiting for my admittance, two women enter my chamber. One, the elderly, taciturn housekeeper, bearing a tray with a decanter and a glass, and the other my new sister-in-law, Lady Lucille. The housekeeper placed the tray on my vanity, dipped her head sharply and departed without further ado.

“Won’t you have a seat Lady Lucille?” I asked in the warmest voice I could manage for this strange, cold woman. She looked down her nose at me.

“I think not, thank you. I’m sure my brother will be here shortly. I have brought you an aperitif.”

“Oh, ah, well, thank you Lady Lucille, but I’m not much for spirits…”

“Nonsense. It is your wedding night.” With that strange announcement -did she think I didn’t remember?- she poured the glass full, and forced it into my hand. It was fortunately a small cordial glass. "Drink it. If I know my brother, and I do, you will need it.“ 

I took a small sip, disliking the burning taste, and made to set it down.

Lady Lucille chided me impatiently as if I were an obstreperous child refusing to take her medicine.

"Really, Edith!” she chided, “Drink the entire glass, it will calm your nerves. Mark my words, you’ll be glad of it before this night is through! It will relax you and make you more receptive when my… (Her breath hitched just slightly)…brother comes to you.”

I watched as she swallowed hard, and her eyes took on a slight sheen, in the face of some strong emotion. I know little about this odd woman, except that she is my new Husbands’ sister, and has been his chatelaine for the last ten years. I would like to have her as a friend and ally in my terrifying new position, but she has made it abundantly clear that she views me as an interloper.

An odd cold draught whispers over my skin, and my scalp tightens in some otherworldly warning. I have always been sensitive, and now I feel as if something were whispering at me to beware this woman and the strange light in her eyes. Suddenly I feel an unaccountable foreign anger, when I would normally be shy and biddable. As if I had been overtaken by some protective spirit. I knew somehow that I must not drink from her hand.

I may be new-come to this country, with its long history and ancient manors, but I mean to learn to be a good helpmeet to Sir Thomas. And that includes understanding my position in my new home and country. I am not entirely ignorant. I know that as the wife of Sir Thomas, as Lady Sharpe, I outrank his sister. She has no right to order me about as if I were still a chit in the schoolroom! I am now Lady of this manor, a fact I will acquaint Lady Lucille with more thoroughly tomorrow. For now, I have had enough of her bullying. I straighten my spine and screw my courage to the sticking point.

“Thank you Lady Lucille, for your solicitous-ness. However, I do not wish to appear inebriated before my new Husband.” I stressed the word Husband, and saw her pale a bit as she absorbed my thrust.

She pursed her lips, and narrowed her eyes, obviously thinking that she knew better than I, and had some right to impose her wishes on me. I do not wish to make an enemy of this woman, she could be very helpful to me as I learn the workings of this vast household, and take up my new duties as its Lady. But something pushes me to stand up to her. It will not, I cannot, allow her to believe that she can push me about. She must be made aware of her place!

“Thank you Lady Lucille,” I repeat, icily. "That will be all.“

She recoiled as if I had struck her, and gaped at me as I calmly stared her down. She abruptly turned and marched herself out of the chamber without a further word.

When the door snapped shut, I all but collapsed onto the vanity bench, as if I were a puppet, and my puppet master had dropped me. Where on earth had I found the courage to defy her like that? I rubbed my arms, quite thoroughly chilled after my encounter.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit high on the edge of the ornately carved bed, my hand smoothing over and over on the claret cloth picked with golden embroideries that is the duvet cover. My eyes fall on the fat goose-down pillows piled high at the head of the bed, and I see that someone -the housekeeper?- has encased them in the fine linen pillowcases that Mama had insisted that I spend the last month embroidering as I awaited my nuptials. I trace my eyes over the fine white silk thread that swirls into the ’T’ and ‘E’ of our two christian names entwined.

I feel very small in this grand room, with it’s high ceilings and tall windows, framed by the same claret colored velvet as the bed cover. On the floor is a gorgeous, enormous wool-woven claret, cream and green carpet, patterned intricately with flowers and vines in an endless trace and loop.

I cannot bear to look at the carven image on the headboard of my marriage bed, and yet my eyes are drawn inexorably there. Some awful, fearsome, long-gone ancestor of Sir Thomas had apparently thought it appropriate to terrify the new brides late-come into the Sharpe family with this grotesquerie. The family Crest is carved there in the headboard, a horrifying grinning skull. If it was meant to impress future brides it has failed in it’s task. I am not Impressed, I am Oppressed. Perhaps that is the emotion it’s placement was meant to convey. 'Abandon hope all ye Brides of the House of Sharpe"… 

I snort indelicately at my inappropriate whimsey. I wrench my eyes away once again, determined to stop staring at it, as I have done at least six times since first setting eyes on it. It is my wedding night, and I await my Husband. And that horrid thing is only increasing the nervous butterflies in my stomach, fluttering and lurching around in there. I have no idea why I am so nervous, perhaps it is the death’s head staring over me.

Suddenly Sir Thomas stands before me. I had not heard the connecting door between our rooms open, nor heard him approach in my fascination with that carving. I feel almost dazed, and it is as if he, my Husband of hours, had been conjured there. A gasp of startlement is wrenched from my lips. My eyes lower properly, and I slide off the edge of the mattress to stand, flushing at having been caught sitting on the bed, flushing at my state of undress. Never have I appeared before a man in my night clothes, finest silks though they may be. I am given to understand that married persons often, even usually, share the same bed. I am certain that I will not sleep a wink this night with the strangeness of another body breathing beside me.

Sir Thomas is still fully dressed, I see to my confusion. Should he not be in his night clothes? His hand comes up and he crooks a finger under my chin, bringing my head up to his gaze. His beautiful blue eyes capture mine and he stares deeply into me, seeking my secrets, though I see none of his. I am mesmerized, feeling as though he has found each one of them, and is turning them over, examining them curiously.

The thought makes me tremble and at last he releases my gaze, his eyes darting over my face, no doubt noting the wideness of my eyes, the pallor of my visage. My respirations have become quick and shallow, my lips parting greedily for more air. I believe I may faint for lack of air as he studies me. 

I lick my lips nervously and his eyes snap to my mouth at the movement. The image that this evokes in my head is of a large wild feline predator fixing it’s attention on the scurryings of some small prey. His own tongue comes out to trace his lower lip, and I somehow feel a pang deep in my belly. I want, but I know not what.

Sir Thomas -my Husband!- lowers his head slowly down to my mouth, his fine lips brushing over mine in my first ever kiss. Oh. The touch of his lips are tantalising me in some indefinable way.

His kiss firms, pressing on my lips warmly. His lips part and his tongue slips out of his mouth, tracing and tasting my lips. I gasp at this unexpected development, and his tongue darts into my mouth. I begin to pull away in my surprise, but the hand under my chin slides around into the hair at my nape, pulling my head back, holding me steady as his mouth works some kind of sorcery on me. His mouth tastes of burning whiskey, and cooling mint at the same time, a delicious, beguiling combination.

His tongue is on mine, stroking it delicately, and then withdrawing with a last caress of my lower lip.

“Sweet…” He whispers against my lips, and I open eyes that I had not realise were fallen shut. I watch as his head pulls slowly away, and his eyes flutter open. How had I not noticed how long his eyelashes were? His gaze is searching my face. Gauging my reaction?

He need have no fear, I am quite overcome. That wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was lovely. If that was the 'transgression upon my body ’ that Mama had so nervously alluded to, all would be very well indeed. I would certainly be willing for my Husband to do that to me again! In point of fact, I would like him to do it to me again, right now…

My body swayed toward him in anticipation of another kiss, but to my great disappointment, he stepped back and dropped his hand from my neck. The skin there suddenly felt quite bereft and cold. I shiver once again.

Sir Thomas turns from me and crosses to my vanity, where the decanter and glass still rest. He pours the spirit into the glass and swallows the whole portion at once. Then he pours another, bringing it to me. I don’t want the glass, I would much rather taste the spirit on his lips. I turn my head, intending to refuse the glass.

“Look at me!” he snaps, and my head jerks up of its own volition. He stands holding the glass out to me, eyes narrowed and his lips that were so recently softly on mine now form a stern line.

“Drink.”

“But…” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Did you not vow, only today, to obey me in all things…Wife?”

I pause. "Yes,“ I whisper meekly.

"Then you will do as I say. I know you don’t wish to drink this, but you must trust your husband to know what is best for you. You have given yourself to me freely this day, and I promised to cherish, protect, and care for you as I see fit. Obey me, wife, and drink.”

“Yes, sir.” I whisper, chastened. I see him close his eyes briefly, his nostrils flare in deep respiration, and his body sway in some unknown emotion. When he opens his eyes they are blazing with blue fire. He lifts the glass to my lips and tilts the contents into my waiting mouth.

The stuff burns my lips and tongue, trailing fire down my throat as I swallow convulsively. I get it all down, but then I begin to cough violently. A large hand strokes my back soothingly as I turn away, coughing and coughing…

When at last my coughing fit subsides, I straighten and look up to see him regarding me in faint amusement. If my face were not already red, I would surely be blushing now. He turns and refills the glass, pushing it into my hand, much to my horror.

“Another, my dear. This one will not be as bad, and it will soothe your throat and quiet your nerves.” He waits, watching me with a curiously intent expression, as my gaze darts to the vile glass and back to his face, mutely begging for reprieve. He remains implacable.

I shrug helplessly, my lot already cast with this afternoon’s promise. I firm my jaw, tilting it at him and stare right back, boldly into his eyes.

“Yes, Husband.” I say as firmly as I can, and toss the detested liquor into my mouth. Swallowing, I find to my surprise that he was right. It still tastes vile, but it does soothe my ravaged throat, and this time I feel little need to cough. I smile tentatively up at him, feeling the liquor tracing my chest and belly with a spreading warmth.

Sir Thomas plucks the glass from my limp fingers and refills it. Not again?! But no. Taking the glass with him, he moves to sit in the wing back chair at the fire, his legs spread wide. He lifts the glass and watches the firelight shift and glow in the golden liquid, turning the glass in those long pale fingertips as his brow furrows lightly. At last he looks up at me and extends his hand to me.

“Come here, wife.” he demands quietly. I cross the carpet toward him and tentatively take his hand, standing before him. His eyes trace over my form, and I feel the same warmth as from the liquor spreading and following in the wake of his probing gaze. I wish to squirm at the frank appraisal in his look. Never have I endured such a bold evaluation of my body by a man. At last he looks into my eyes.

“You will not always like the things I demand of you, wife, but you will obey. However, rest assured, there will be other…compensations.” He took a sip from the glass, and then set it carefully down on the occasional table at his elbow. Tugging lightly on my hand, he drew me to stand between his legs. I blushed to be in such proximity to his body.

“Tell me, Edith, what do you know of wedding nights and marriage beds?” he asked softly.

I colored, knowing that my ignorance will be revealed to him. Clearly kissing is not to be the sum total of Mama’s forewarned 'transgressions’.

“S-sir Thomas…” I stutter. He raised a finger, halting me.

“Just Thomas…or Husband will do.”

“Yes, Thomas.” He nods in approval. My heart leaps to have pleased him. Clearing my throat lightly, I continue.

“Mama… My mother told me that you would 'require certain things’ of me on our wedding night, and that I must submit myself to your…'transgressions upon my body’ were the words she used. I didn’t… entirely understand what she meant…” I trail off uncertainly, suddenly acutely aware of my deshabille and the intensity of his gaze. Thomas swears under his breath, his face going quite grim, pursing his lips.

“I should have known that the blasted, flittering woman would shirk her clear duty to you… I’d have thought she’d have more care for her daughter than to leave you entirely ignorant.” His eyes softened at that. I hope that is not…pity I see in his eyes.

“At least she appears not to have filled your head with nonsense and fears.” He sighs, resigned, I think, to instructing me, hopefully filling the gaps of knowledge that Mama left with me.

“Sit here, Edith,” he says, drawing me down to sit on his thigh, my toes barely touching the carpet between his feet. I feel the long hard muscles of his thigh tightening and shifting through the thin fabrics of my nightshift and dressing gown. The sensation of his thigh under my bottom reawakening that strange unnamable yearning deep inside me and my breath catches with the warmth of it. A small smile curls at his mouth. 

“Your mama was indeed correct that you must submit to my…” amusement lit his eyes, “my transgressions against your body. However, I believe that in time you will not just submit, but will joyfully participate.” He smiled at me reassuringly.

“Do you know of the genesis of children?”

Oh, this is another of those dratted subjects that Mama insisted no well brought up lady speaks of. Really, Mama’s lack of information on these subjects had been most infuriating. My curiosity has always been an insatiable thing, and I could be quite persistent in pursuit of knowledge. Mama had sent me to my room on more than one occasion for it. Not that I’d really minded, for it was a luxury of the highest order to spend time alone with my books. It was a great pity that I had been unable to procure a book that spoke frankly on the subject.

“No, Husband.” I reply softly, and explain my mother’s reticence on the subject.

“Ah.” he paused momentarily, appearing to marshal his words. "I’m afraid I must be somewhat pedantic. Please bear with me.“ He took my hand in his, gently stroking my fingers. It was quite distracting…

"The purpose of marriage is to get children. You will be the mother of my children, the mother of my son, the next Lord of Allerdale Hall.” He softly ran the back of his hand down my cheek and neck in a tender gesture.

“These 'transgressions’ your mother spoke of are the method of his conception. I will put a baby in your belly before the year is out,“ his hand came to rest, spread over my navel. ”…and you will nurture him here, under your heart.“

"But…” I was more confused than ever. How was he going to put a baby in my belly? Where will it - he - will grow? There’s hardly room for something so large as a baby in there!

He raised a long finger at me. "Patience, little one. All will be revealed…“ He leaned forward and once more kissed me gently, caressing my lips and tongue with his. Sitting back, he continued, although I did not know which I wished more of, his words or his kisses.

"A kiss is the prelude to generating a child.” he murmured huskily. "I will touch and caress your body… every soft, lovely inch of you…and my lips will kiss you…and my tongue will taste you…“ His hand moved back to my neck, and brushed over the bare skin there, before traveling slowly to my bosom, brushing the knuckles of his hand across the peak. My bosom tightened, and I took a deep breath, pushing just a little back against his hand. He turned his hand over and cupped my breast.

I watched him in fascination as he recited these things. His eyes dilated so that they were black, even in the firelight. His breathing deepened and his eyes once more traced over my form, lingering at my bosom, watching his thumb feather lightly over the peak. For my part, I think I had forgot how to breathe.

"Touching you this way will bring… changes to both our bodies, to make you more receptive, and to harden my prick.” He swallowed hard.

“Prick? I’m sorry, Thomas. I, I don’t know what that is.”

“This.” He reached for my hand and brought it to his lap, covering my hand with his own. There was a pronounced bulge under my hand. I had no corresponding bulge on my own body. How peculiar. Suddenly I felt a twitch under my hand and I darted a look at my Husband’s face in astonishment. It was…growing! 

Thomas looked…angry? His brow was lowered, his mouth clenched, and a muscle ticked in his jaw as he swallowed.

“Are you angry with me? Did I do something wrong, Thomas? I’m sorry…” I tried to pull my hand away, but he pressed down, trapping my hand against him. He smiled.

“No, sweet, I am not angry at you, far from it! It just feels very…very good when you touch me there.” He drew a strong breath in through his nose, and continued.  
“When our bodies are ready, I will insert my prick into your…womanhood. If all goes well, a baby will then grow in your womb.” I’m sure he could see my confusion. 

"Perhaps it’s best just to demonstrate, eh? I must tell you that your first time is likely to be uncomfortable for you. I shall do my best to be gentle with you, this first time.“

I must confess, that last bit had me a trifle worried, but the look in his eyes, the hunger in his face, made me yearn to have more of his kisses. I would welcome any transgression if it came accompanied by his kisses…


	3. Chapter 3

Sir Thomas gently pushed me off his lap to stand, steadying me with a solicitous hand before standing himself.

“Let us begin. Kiss me, wife.” he growled.

He leaned into me, looming over me, and my heart leapt, beating three times faster. I was suddenly almost panting in anticipation, and he had not yet lowered his lips to mine. I wanted to mewl in frustration as his lips stopped a millimeter from mine, and his eyes fluttered shut, unmoving, waiting with a preternatural stillness. After a moment, I pulled my head back in confusion. Was he not going to kiss me?

My eyes darted over his face, teasing out his mood, his desire, and his patience. I nearly exclaimed aloud in quite unladylike terms when I realized what he was waiting for, what I am expected to do. Moving my head back to it’s previous position, I reached a trembling hand up and placed it lightly in the center of his chest. His chest muscles contracted under my hand, and I could hear the smallest click in his throat as he swallowed and breathed out heavily through his nose, his breath gusting over my face. Not the smallest muscle moved in his face to betray the slightest emotion. 

I stood on my toes, reaching up, pressing his lips with my own. I trembled with my own audacity, but his warm arms came up and enfolded me in an embrace that seemed to convey such possessiveness, such tenderness, such strength. As his mouth began to explore mine, I became aware, in the rigidity his stance, in the fine trembling in certain muscles around his mouth, of the control he was exercising, the care he was taking to leash some great straining craving for me. He knew this was new to me, and he was gently yet firmly leading me where I yearned to follow…

His kiss deepened, the pressure of his lips firming on mine, and his tongue sought and received entrance to my mouth, this time invading me to the depths of my soul. Sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, he bit down lightly and…growled.

My knees nearly buckled. Thomas’ grasp strengthened and suddenly he was lifting me against his body. One hand moved to my hair and tangled there, keeping my head, my mouth, exactly where he wanted them. Oh. Oh. His mouth is doing wondrous things to me. I feel his kiss all the way to my toes, but the strongest sensation and warmth emanated from the deepest part of me, spreading into the most peculiar mixture of relaxation and tension. I was nearly boneless from his touch, at the same time becoming increasingly aware of some tight coil winding within me.

He settled me on my feet and retook his chair, spreading his legs wide, reaching up and running long fingers over the lapels of my dressing gown. His clever fingers undid the knot of ribbon keeping the garment closed. He gave a small tug to the fabric of my nightdress.

"Take this off. I will see my bride.” He ordered in a husky voice.

I blushed, but I shrugged off my dressing gown, letting it pool at my feet, and standing before him in naught but a very sheer fine silk shift.

I glanced down at myself and gasped. Even in the dim firelight I could see the darker color of the peaks of my bosom, and below that the shadow of the curls at the apex of my thighs. I quickly covered myself with my hands, but Thomas grasped my arms and brought them to my sides.

“No,” he growled, “let me see.”

“Yes, Husband.” I whispered, coloring and mortified.

“Turn around,” he demanded quietly. I turned my back to him and I felt his hands at my night-plat, pulling the silk ribbon from the end and fingering through the braid, pulling it apart and freeing my hair to spread around my shoulders. I could feel him stroking my hair as if familiarizing himself with it. A small tug and I heard him inhaling the scent of the rosewater that mama had rinsed my hair with that morning.

“I wish for you to always have your hair loose when I come to you, is that clear?” It was obviously an order. I shivered. He will come to me? More than just this night?

“Y-yes, Thomas.” I acknowledged timidly.

“Good. Face me.” I turned back to him and watched as impassively as I could as he began to unfasten the many tiny buttons down the front of my shift. The peaks of my bosom drew up into hard points, yet I was not cold. Far from it, as I felt the scalding heat of a blush rush over my body.

“You needn’t wear so much clothing, either,” he growled. And losing patience, he grasped the placket of my gown and rent the garment asunder, leaving me gasping in shock. He cast the tatters of silk aside.

He stood then, looking down at me. I could feel myself color further. His chin dipped down as he circled around me, inspecting me from every angle, occasionally trailing a finger along my body. Goose bumps followed in his finger’s wake. Soon I was shivering.

Finally he stood in front of me, spread his feet, stretched his arms out from his sides and said, “Undress me, Wife.”

At last I am given something to do, though I have never undressed a man and have no idea where to start. I reach trembling fingers to the bow of his cravat and pull it free. Next I removed his coat and hung it carefully on the back of the chair. He was a picture in just his waistcoat, the black satin showing his slim build to perfection.

He presented his wrist to me, and I found the buttons fastening his cuffs together. My fingers fumbling on the warm fabric at his wrists, at last I managed to open the cuff, repeating my ministrations on the other wrist. My fingers trembled through unbuttoning his waistcoat, laying it over the arm of his chair. He shrugged the braces off his shoulders and left them to dangle from his waistband.

I looked up, wondering what to do next and his chin tilted up. My hands reached for the buttons at the neck of his blouse, slowly opening and revealing his neck and the notch at his collarbone. I can see his pulse galloping, throbbing in his neck. Glancing up I find blazing eyes fastened on me.

He slowly pulls his shirt tails from the waist of his trousers and strips the shirt off over his head, standing at last before me, his chest bared to my eyes. He is slim, but with a muscular definition over his shoulders and ribs, a small patch of dark hair centered between two small, flat, tight disks.

“Touch me, Wife,” he demanded in a low voice.

Tentatively, I trailed my hands over his arms and chest, delighting in the tactile differences between his warm velvety soft skin and the hard musculature   
underneath. I am nearly overcome with the scent of him, and the heat emanating from his bare skin. Curiously, I reached a fingertip to one of the flat disks on his chest, feeling the point contract further under my finger as I heard him gasp.

I snatched my hand away, fearing that I had hurt him in some way, but he grasped my hand and flattened it over his pectoral. I could feel the point under my palm, and also the deeper throbbing of his heart.

Looking up into his eyes I see warmth as well as heat. Holding my hand, he turned and led me to the bed, sitting on the edge and nodding at his feet.

“Continue.” He said, lifting a boot clad foot.

I slid to my knees, the old threadbare claret carpet doing little to cushion them, sitting back on my heels to pull the boot from his foot and set it aside with its stocking. I removed the other and looked up. All the friendly warmth has left his eyes, and there is naught but blazing heat and possessiveness as he regards my nude form on my knees before him.

Thomas stood from the bed and I made to stand also, but he placed a hand on my shoulder, keeping me on my knees. I looked up in question.  
“We will begin as we mean to go on, my dear. Now is the time to begin to familiarize yourself with my intimate body. Remove my trousers,” he directed. He spoke quite clearly, almost dispassionately, yet there was no dispassion in his face, only intent and determined regard.

My shaking hands reached for him, hovering for just a moment before I could force the nerve to touch his trousers. I found the button on his waistband. I could feel his belly muscles quiver under my knuckles as I wrestled with the button, at last opening it. I reached for the zipper, but Thomas grasped my wrist, stilling me.

I looked up. Thomas’ eyes glinted at me, a small smile quirking at the corner of his lip. 

“Carefully, if you please, my dear wife. Neither of us will enjoy what happens if you should catch me in that zipper.” he warned.

He loosed my hand and my eyes inspected the situation. There was clearly a large…appendage behind that zipper, pressing up against it. I could certainly see his concern. I reached both hands to his trousers, grasping the fly with one hand and gently inserting two fingers behind the zipper, my knuckles grazing a hot, spongy soft object as I carefully pulled the zipper down. Removing my hands, it immediately sprang into the gap, and I had my first look at a ‘prick’.

Thick and veined, it had a bulbous deeply pink head, not quite concealed by a collar of skin, and a small aperture at the top, beading a drop of liquid. Surrounded by a nest of dark curls, it reached toward his navel and was nearly as big around as my wrist. I gasped and froze, staring at it. If he truly intended to insert that into my womanhood…I expect I’ll be dead by morning.

Thomas’ hands pushed at his trousers, they slid easily off his slim hips to pool at his feet, and he stepped out of them. I could not stop staring.

“Kiss the instrument of your deflowering, wife.” he demanded.

Kiss…? I looked up his long body, meeting his dark stare. His chin jerks down in implacable command as his hand circles the root of his prick, holding it out for my obeisance.

I look down and lean toward him, pausing as his masculine scent overwhelms me. This is all very strange to me, but I realize that I want this almost desperately.  
I gently place a chaste kiss on the head of his prick, my hand against his thigh steadying me. His breath shudders out of him. 

“More.” he growls above me, his hand grasping the back of my neck and drawing me close again. Recalling the wonderful kisses to which he had introduced me, I let him prod against my lips before opening them. I licked over the head, tasting salt and musk very much to my liking.

Thomas exerted pressure on the back of my neck, sliding my mouth onto his prick.

“Oh yes, Edith,” he growled, ”you will indeed be a very satisfactory wife…”

I flushed at his praise. Instinctively keeping my teeth away from his silken flesh, I stroked my tongue over his length as he filled my mouth impossibly full, until I thought I might choke, then he eased away and back in. His other hand smoothed the hair away from my face and I looked up to find him watching himself slide in and out of my mouth. His eyes are dark and brows drawn down, breathing through his nose, jaw clenched as he stared intently, sternly at me.

“Enough.” he said, and withdrew from my mouth. He stepped back and reached down to draw me to a stand.

I gasped as his hands went under my derrière and lifted me off my feet, setting me on the bed. I resolutely kept my eyes on my Husband, not on the death’s head that I know is grinning down at me from the headboard.

“Lie back, wife.” he instructs, and I obey without demur. He sits on the bed at my hip and draws a hand down my torso to my belly before reaching up and cupping my bosom, lifting and weighing it. Thomas leaned down and and wrapped his lips around the peak, suckling and drawing a pleading groan from me as he pulls some string that leads down deep into my belly.

He turned and crawled up my body, pushing my knees apart and insinuating his between them, leaning his weight on his hands, looming over me.

“Put your hands on me, wife.” he growled into my ear, nipping it.

I obeyed my Husband, anything to satisfy my craving to touch his warm silken skin. Sliding my hands down his back, the warm firm globes of his backside filled my palms. My fingers clenched involuntarily at the leaping in the pit of my stomach as I felt the muscles there flex.

His prick slid through the folds of my womanhood, brushing repeatedly against something delicious, setting off some sort of sparks behind my navel. My thighs opened and my hips thrust up against him, helplessly seeking more of that sensation, little mewls escaping my throat in some sort of driving need to have his touch.

He dipped his head once more in a lingering kiss as he continued to torture me. Ending the kiss, he slid one hand between us and began to brush his thumb more firmly against that aching, yearning spot, rolling onto his other elbow and looking down our bodies, watching intently as his fingers moved over me, gathering the moisture that is beginning to slick my thighs, and lubricating that place with more sensation.

Dear heavens, I feel my body yearning, stretching, chasing after something that can only be satisfied by pressing against his touch. 

“Look at me, wife!” he snarled when my eyes fell shut in my all consuming ecstasy. As I had been feeling little sparks shooting off, suddenly a conflagration is lit, centering under his hand, and racing through my body, stilling my breath and bowing my spine. My thighs snapped shut around his hand and my hips rocked against it, seeking to contain the racking, shuddering, convulsing between my legs. And all the while my Husband stared down into my eyes, avidly drinking in my reactions.

After an eternity of rippling, decrescendo-ing bliss, my body went limp, my mind lethargic.

“Lovely.” Thomas murmured, removing his hand and lifting it to his mouth, tasted the moisture, my moisture, glistening on his fingers as my breath caught.  
Thomas pushed my thighs apart once again as I lay too prostrate, too drained to protest my modesty. He rolled his hips between them once more. His breath puffed over my face as he murmured, “So warm…so wet for me…Edith, my wife…” I felt his prick nudging against me and whimpered, my flesh so very tender and sensitive. “This will only hurt for a moment, darling…”

I had barely made sense of his low words when he thrust abruptly inside me and a white hot pain tore through me. I screamed in shock at the sudden invasion, clawing at his shoulders. He held himself still, buried deep inside me as I cried out. I gasped over and over, digging my nails into his biceps, waiting as the pain slowly diminished and my body began to ease around the intrusion. 

Somewhere distant, outside the room I heard a heartrending scream and the sound of breaking glass. Thomas’ attention did not waver from my face, aside from the smallest grimace, so perhaps I imagined the distant sounds.

I let a long, shaking breath out as the pain slipped away, and then Thomas rolled his hips. I braced myself for a return of the pain, but felt only a slow rolling pleasure at the slight movement.

Looking up into Thomas’ face, I see a smile of approval lighting his eyes. Slowly he drew away until his prick was only just lodged within, and then slid forward to fill me again and again in a liquid glide. I found myself whimpering as that excruciating need began to present itself again.

Thomas lowered his head to kiss me, his kisses trailing from my lips to my jaw and down my neck. One large hand trailed down my thigh to my knee, lifting it and curling it around his hip, changing the angle of his thrust and doing something delightful to my insides in the process.

Thomas was murmuring again, into the skin of my neck, setting my body shivering. “So tight and wet, Edith…I’m going to fill your belly…empty myself into your tight heat…You will look so ripe and beautiful with my child swelling your belly…” He growls and thrusts faster, harder, into me, driving my need higher.   
His hand pushes between our bodies and begins to rub and pluck at that delicious spot, and my body explodes into that indescribable rapturous seizure once again, clamping down against his prick’s intrusion and driving a grunt from Thomas. It’s different this time, deeply satisfying in some way, feeling myself ripple and throb around Thomas’ prick. I cried out and moaned as Thomas quickened his pace, his hand shoving under me to grasp my bottom.

My breath is panting along with Thomas’ when he cries out my name and thrusts into me with a stuttering fury. I feel a scorching heat wash deep inside my belly as Thomas experiences his own paroxysm, straining frozen against me.

Thomas collapses over me, nearly driving the breath from my lungs, panting into my ear, shuddering against me.

After an eternal moment, Thomas rolls aside, his prick slithering out of me, trailing wetly over my thigh. His arms tightened around me and he pulls me onto his chest, his hand stroking and combing through my disarranged, tangled hair. 

His fingers nudged my chin up as he tipped his head down to regard me, his eyes warm.   “Well, wife, what do you think of wedding nights?”

I nestled contentedly against his warm body. 

“Well Husband, if all wedding nights are like that, why, I could wish that all our nights were wedding nights…” I trailed off in a helpless yawn, belatedly covering my mouth. As I fell into a deep well of sleep I heard him reply.

“They will be.” he growled, and it sounded like both a threat and a promise…

Fin?


	4. Chapter 4

“There are parts of the house that are unsafe.” echoed in my memory. Well, Thomas was certainly correct about that, I thought as I looked at the drunken, crooked banister on the third floor stairs of the North Wing. I reached out a finger and pushed at it, testing its stability- of which it had very little. It creaked and swayed at my lightest touch.

However, I had discovered that most of the beautiful, grand old house was actually intact…even if it did totter a bit here and there. I fancied the house as a very old Grand Dame, dressed in her finest lace and filigree. Her face may be aged and worn, but the bone structure under the wrinkles was elegant and timeless.

I had been Lady of Allerdale Hall for all of two weeks as I made my detailed inspection of the North Wing. Thomas had forbidden me to go into the South Wing at all, saying that there were too many dangers. No matter, I will ferret out all the house’s secrets in time.

Thomas spends nearly all the daylight hours working on his ‘Infernal Machine’, as he half-exasperatedly, half-fondly calls it, perfecting its winnowing of the dark red clay from the cold and windy moor. It’s a fascinating process, and I have spent several interesting hours watching Thomas and his men climb about and tinker with the thing, listening to them talk about improvements and innovations amongst themselves as they work. I’ve also picked up a working man’s vocabulary that would make Mama faint dead away, should I ever employ those words in her presence. This, fortunately, is never likely to happen, Mama being safely ensconced across the ocean in New York once again.

I should be ashamed to say it, but I have been reveling in my ability to explore my new home unhindered by parental disapproval or caution. I am fascinated by Allerdale. The house is not nearly as decrepit as I had expected from Thomas’s descriptions. I had almost hoped for a great hole in the roof over the central hall, with wind and snow sifting through, when he carried me across the threshold as a new bride! Instead I found a Glass Dome over the Front Hall, that had a small crack, through which rain had crept in and caused some small amount of damage. Very prosaic, as one sees.

I chided myself for my silly schoolgirl imaginings of ghosts, falling down roofs, and secret passageways. The house of my imagining would make for a deliciously frightening setting for my next story, but the reality is far less mysterious. The beautiful house merely suffers from too little money and the consequent too much neglect over the years, that’s all.

Thomas had shut off the North and South Wings of the house, the family and remaining servants abiding in the central section. The house is far too large for just we few. A house this large and grand requires an army of staff merely to keep her clean and fit to live in, never mind manage all the small repairs that are needed simply due to weather and wear. Thomas plainly did not have the funds, his father having apparently squandered most of the family money playing at cards, and spending lavishly on parties at their townhouse in London. That house had to be sold upon his death to clear his many debts, I gather, with not much left over for his bereft family to live on. Thomas had left his place at school when funds could not be found for the fees, and the family had moved back into their country estate in Cumberland, near the Scottish border.

Thomas had continued his education as best he could, tutoring himself from the many, and varied books in the Grand Library. I have discovered an insatiable curiosity about all things mechanical, and a ferocious intellect beneath my new husband’s occasionally austere countenance. He is quite a good teacher as well, telling me all about his machine and its intricacies, in such detail that even I, with no bent toward Engineering whatsoever, may understand its workings! His enthusiasm when he speaks of such things is quite endearing, and I find myself nearly as intrigued as he. My husband will be a great Engineer one day, modernizing the entire world with his inventions! If only he could perfect his mining machinery, and turn a profit from its operations…

Now that Father and his Cronies have promised him funding to scale up his Infernal Machines, it is finally possible that Thomas may replenish the family fortunes. He stands on the cusp of great things. Father stands to make a fair profit on his investment in him, too!

For now, Thomas works all the hours of the daylight to hasten toward that end, and I am left mostly to my own devices. But my own devices have been no less interesting and no less busy. As the new Lady of Allerdale Hall I must soon take up my social duties, visiting the neighboring gentry and making my acquaintances. I mean to fit in here, in this new homeland…

But first things first. I cannot begin visiting the other Society Families until our home is fit for return visits. And so, I am surveying the house and making a detailed list of the work that must be done to make the rest of the house habitable.

I have already found a Grand Ballroom that will make the most marvelous site for parties, but the fine parquet on the dance floor is in dire need of stripping and re-finishing. The walls need a fresh coat of paint, the gilding needs refurbishing, the red velvet drapes at the floor to ceiling windows are moth-eaten and must be replaced. The windows themselves need re-caulking, as they rattle rather badly in the wind. The brass of the great chandeliers overhead is green spotted and dull, and must be polished.

There is indeed a deal of work to be done to make the house fit for company. But with the aid of Father’s wedding gift to me, I mean to see the work done and Thomas’s home restored to her former glory!

I must speak to Thomas about whether to keep the gas lighting in the ballroom or to modernize into electric. Candlelight is certainly kinder to ladies complexions than the harsher electric lights… I can hardly wait until renovations are finished. I do so miss dancing!

I make another note on my little book. I must stop wool gathering and mooning over the romantic possibilities of the ballroom and get on with my current task of exploring and listing repairs that must be done.

Further down the worn carpet of the hallway (another item to be replaced!) of the third floor, I find a very large and drafty room. It was obviously a nursery, although a more gloomy and inhospitable place to raise children I cannot imagine. There were several school desks, a globe on a stand, and a row of textbooks on a shelf. I observed no toys anywhere. Perhaps they have been put away? The windows were high and tiny, and looked out only across the bleak and windy moor, austere in its winter sepia tones.

The room itself is drafty and cold. There is no fireplace, although one wall houses the brick chimney from below. I suppose, with a fire going in the fireplace downstairs, the bricks of the chimney would emanate some warmth. But I can see clearly it would never adequately heat this large space. I am astounded that the family would choose to raise it’s children here. The cold alone would make the nursery dangerous to the delicate health of children. My children will certainly not be raised in such an awful place! Mama may have been of the 'children must be seen and not heard’ school, but clearly Thomas’s family believed children shouldn’t be heard or seen, way up here under the cold rafters…

Mama may have been hysteric, but she did love me after her fashion, and she raised me in warmth and comfort.

There were two doors leading off the main room and I checked behind each. One of the doors led to a small bedroom, with small iron bedsteads, the mattresses bare, stripped of bedclothes. I found to my horror that there were straps attached to the iron frames, with small buckled cuffs at the end of short tethers.

I stood with my hand pressed over my mouth, staring in repulsion at the barbarity. The straps had plainly been used to keep small children in their beds… I know that the bed straps had come into vogue in the previous generation as a deterrent, to keep children from touching themselves. The previous generation had been the victim of some very peculiar and perverse ideas on the proper raising of children! Only one of which had been the utterly ridiculous notion that poor eyesight was the result of excess touching of one’s body in childhood!

I snorted indelicately, and adjusted my own spectacles, my own personal evidence that bad eyesight has nothing to do with touching one’s self down there…  
I opened the last door, expecting to find another bedroom, perhaps for a nanny, and gasped. It was a tiny, dark closet, empty but for a small stool and a bucket. The wooden walls and the inside of the door were covered with small scratches at waist height to an adult, as if frantic tiny fingernails had gouged into the wood, desperately seeking exit.

I stepped back and slammed the door shut on that horror, my eyes welling with tears. The tiny closet had clearly been used to incarcerate disobedient children. Oh, how could anybody ever be so cruel…?

Blinded by tears, I ran from the nursery, and from the knowledge that my husband and his sister must have been raised here, in such a manner. Quite an awful, terrifying childhood it must have been. No wonder Thomas and Lucille seem to cling to each other at times. They must have been each other’s only solace.

I sped back down the stairs and away from the awful place, vowing once again that my children would never occupy that horrible space. That nursery will be turned into storage, never, never to be used again!

I had regained my composure by the time I reached the ground floor once again, although I continued to feel oppressed by the bleak rooms overhead. Taking my book and pencil back to the kitchen, I repaired there for a fortifying cup of coffee before continuing my explorations.

There I found Lady Lucille, sitting with her own cup, writing something, one long finger tapping out a rhythm on the table top. I glanced over her shoulder at her paper and saw, to my astonishment, that she was writing a musical score. I hesitated to interrupt her, and turned away. Not that I would expect a hostile reception from her. Lucille has been unfailingly polite to me, if somewhat cool and aloof. She mostly keeps to herself, going about her own business, whatever that may be. Often the only time I catch sight of her is at the dinner table in the evenings. I have wondered where she keeps herself and what occupies her, but had been reluctant to intrude on her obvious desire for solitude- or to avoid my company. This is another thing I mean to change, with luck, ingenuity, perseverance- and quite possibly, divine intervention.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas encouraged me in my plans to bring Allerdale Hall out of mothballs. Well, actually he encouraged me to enlist Lucille in the scheme… For her part, Lucille seems determined to remain aloof.

She had been quite clear that whatever I wanted done to her home was none of her affair. I cannot fathom her attitude. How could she not be interested in renovating this beautiful house, her home? I am certain she must have vital contributions to make. She understands the house after all, far better than I do, having only resided here for so short a time. There are times I feel quite impatient and frustrated with her lack of interest. And her lack of guidance! Goodness, I have no idea how to hire appropriate staff, or where to find them here in England!

I would have no such problem back home, where I was familiar with the hiring practices and requirements. Mama did after all attempt to teach me to manage a household and staff. I even learnt to keep the accounts as well! But here… I have no experience in hiring an entirely new staff, and no contacts with other families for recommendations…

And we simply must replace this disastrous cook. Burned porridge for breakfast, indeed! Neither Thomas nor Lucille seem to care what food is placed in front of them. They will eat whatever burned or indifferent stuff is given them. But I, at least, am accustomed to, if not finer fare, at least wholesome food! It’s no wonder at all that both of them are so rail thin, their Cook is slowly starving them! It simply won’t do, and I am near to pitching a hissy fit in my desperation to at least feed my family proper nourishing meals. If I had the least idea how to cook I’d do it myself! But of course Mama forbade me, insisting that cooking was beneath my station.

I wandered into the music room late one afternoon before tea, following the lilting melody of Lucille’s pianoforte to find her alone in front of the keyboard. The dancing sweet tune emerging from under her fingers is incongruous with Lucille’s stiff bearing and cool demeanor, but I have come to learn and accept that Lucille’s waters run deep, and what she shows on the surface is not necessarily what lies beneath. She glanced up at me as I entered the room with my book in hand, asking her leave to join her. The skin around her eyes tightened minutely, concealing what emotion I know not. She inclined her head in assent.  
“Of course you may come in, Edith. This is your home now and you are mistress of it after all…”

If it was not the enthusiastic welcome that I longed for, and slightly bitter, it was at least consent… I quietly took my seat on the worn dark blue velvet of the sofa, and settled my skirts as I listened to her play.

I admire Lucille’s prowess at the piano so much! I have poor skill at the piano myself. Mama had forced me to take lessons from an early age, and I had loathed them. Or more precisely I had loathed my piano mistress! She had been of a sour disposition, always looking as if she had bitten into something nasty, and much given to rapping my knuckles with a baton when my fingers stumbled and faltered over the keys. I had been quite relieved when she passed away, much to my shame. I had begged Mama not to replace her. I believe Mama had been somewhat relieved not to do so, after years of listening to my faltering attempts to play and storms of weeping after my teacher departed each week.

I much prefer to sing anyway. Whatever small musical talent I possess is in my voice, not my fingers.

“I can just imagine you playing here as a child,” I mused. “Did your mother teach you?” I asked quietly as Lucille ended the little tune. She turned her head and regarded me.

“Oh no. We children were not allowed into this part of the house. We were kept occupied in the nursery under the eaves. Mother never would have tolerated my presence in this room. And she had no desire to personally teach me anything, except to stay as far away from her as possible, lest I incur her…attentions.

My breath congealed in my chest.

Lucille’s fingers caressed the keys and she began another tune, softer and sadder than the previous.

"But then, how did you learn to play?” I asked tentatively. “Surely you have been playing since you were a child!”

"Mother had a piano moved into the nursery, and a music master installed… She…expected that I become proficient at the piano, deeming it a necessary accomplishment for a young lady of quality to possess…”

“But surely she was proud of your accomplishment! You play so very beautifully…”

Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “I don’t believe Mother ever heard me play…” Lucille said distantly. “Mother’s visits to the nursery were never for so frivolous a reason…”

Lucille seemed in a mood to talk. I was horrified at the glimpse of a loveless childhood she was offering, but wanting to know nevertheless. What had been done to those defenseless children in the attic? How had my husband and his sister grown up?

“Mother… didn’t like us very much, you see…She often said I was a disgrace to the family name and a personal disappointment. I am inconvenient and unlovable, as you see…”

The appalling vision of their childhood that Lucille spoke of so distantly impelled me to thrust my book aside and impulsively rush to comfort her. Yet, fetching up beside her, I had not the least idea how to do so. Lucille does not invite intimacies.

Rather than circle her with my arms, I fell to my knees beside her bench, trying to convey my sorrow and sympathy for the abuse that her childhood self had endured at the hands of a woman who was clearly unfit to be called a Mother.

Lucille’s hands stilled on the keyboard as she looked down at me on my knees in mild surprise. Her hand tentatively came to rest on my hair. Her face softened and her fingers traced gently over my cheek.

“So pretty…so innocent, Edith.” she mused, “You will learn soon enough that the world is not all sunshine and sweet songs.”

Dropping her hand from my head she rose and walked out of the room without another word or a backwards glance.

I leaned my face into the hard seat of the piano bench and cried for the little children trapped in the bleak room under the rafters, all unloved. I will admit I cried for myself as well, self-pity for my once again thwarted attempt at intimacy with this standoffish woman, my inability to forge a friendship with my sister-in-law.  
I am so lonely, with Thomas gone on one of his trips to Edinburgh to consult on machining parts for his various contraptions and projects. I yearn so for companionship. It is not in my nature to drift through featureless days alone and content entirely with my own company. So I cried, cried until I ended in my lonely bed with aching sore eyes, and a sick headache.

***

“How is your health, sister?” Lucille inquired at dinner one evening. How does she always know when my courses come upon me? For she never fails to inquire after my health on the day I that I begin to bleed.

I have gradually become aware that Lucille is a keen observer. She may be quiet and reserved, but her eyes and intellect are sharp.

I glanced up at her from my meal, wondering if I saw a spark of satisfaction, or disappointment in her face when I colored, giving myself away. I felt naked before her scrutiny.

Thomas had explained patiently all of the intimate processes of my body which Mama had blushed and stammered over, or outright neglected. I could wish that he had been available to explain to me in his matter-of-fact tone when my monthly courses first began! As it was, I was nearly terrified to death as a completely ignorant young girl of thirteen the first time I bled. Mama was hysterical and useless as a source of information. In the end, it was Matthews, Mama’s lady’s maid, who calmed me down and explained.

Thomas had told me that the first sign that I had conceived would be the cessation of my monthly courses. In that moment at the table, I believe I hated Lucille for noticing my failure once again. I gritted my teeth and answered her as civilly as I could.

“I am fit as a fiddle, Lucille. Thank you for asking. And your own health?” I darted a look Thomas’s way, wondering if he caught the subtle tension between his sister and I.

“I am also well.” she stated serenely, and thankfully lapsed into her accustomed silence once more. A long, awkward pause in conversation ensued, before Thomas cleared his throat and began to speak of one of his village workmen who had apparently broken his leg today.

I was grateful for the change of subject that Thomas provided. Lucille asked several questions of him and I was able to retire into my own thoughts. Tomorrow I will take a basket down to the village for the injured man and his family. I’m ashamed to say that I was pleased to have something to occupy me, even at the cost of that poor man’s injury.

***

“Lucille, I need… I need your help.”

Lucille regarded me coolly. “My help?” She questioned skeptically.

“Yes, please…” I said with careful entreaty, hoping to spark some interest in her eyes. Could it be that Lucille simply needs to be needed? I clasped my hands together.

“Sister, I’m all at sea here in England. We must get the repairs to Allerdale in hand, but I have no earthly idea how to reckon the costs! The ballroom! We simply must refurbish the ballroom! We need light and music and dance in this beautiful old girl!” I waved my hands around the hall.

I watched yearning bloom in her face before she shuttered it and drew back, something very like fear in the back of her eyes, her face once again became an impenetrable mask.

“I hardly think you need my advice on how to remake your new domain.” she said distantly. “I have clearly failed in my duty to keep and care for Allerdale. No doubt you would prefer to remove me to the dower house as soon as possible…” she concluded.

“No! Oh no, Lucille! I would never! How could anyone be so cruel as to remove you from your lifelong home?!” What rejection must she have endured throughout her life to expect to be so summarily dismissed? Of course, I have displaced her in her home, taken her place at her brother’s side in the only family she has. The very notion makes me sick to my stomach. I thought frantically for a way to prove my words to her.

I snatched away the set of keys at my waist that Thomas had conjured reluctantly from her, holding them out in a trembling hand to her.

Lucille’s eyes fell to the ring of keys in my hand, her face blank, staring at the them for a long moment, as they chimed and clinked together in my shaking hand.  
When she reached long white fingers out and skimmed a forefinger over them I looked up into her face and watched her swallow hard. She looked into my eyes, searching out my sincerity.

I went to my knees, still offering her the ring of keys in my palm, melodramatic in my desperation to find a place in her heart and her family. Because I know this will never be my family so long as she is set against me, and yet I am to live here all the rest of my days. A more bleak future I could not imagine.

“Please, don’t leave us, Lucille…” I whispered. “We need you. I need you. I should be so lost and lonely without a sister…”

Her grasp on her stoic expression unraveled. Lucille’s eyes filled with tears, and she sank to her knees in front of me, still nearly towering over me. But her hand closed over mine, clasping the keys between our two hands.

Her eyes glued to our hands, she said “Alright, Sister. Shall we say that, rather than a new mistress, Allerdale has another mistress?

My relief and joy bubbled out and I threw my arms about her, startling a gasp from her. Lucille’s body began to stiffen automatically, but a breath later her arms came around me and clasped me to her bosom tentatively, before pushing me back gently but firmly by my shoulders.

Thomas strode through the doorway, coming to an abrupt halt as he spied us on our knees.

I bit my lip, looking up at him over Lucille’s shoulder, wondering if my Husband would disapprove of finding his wife on her knees in on the floor. I watched the briefest of emotions flicker across his face; surprise rapidly giving way to relief, his eyes lighting as he regarded our embrace.

A genuine smile broke over his face and he continued into the room, holding his hands down to both of us and pulling us to our feet.

"Ladies, you must come see! The Infernal Machine is at last operating faultlessly!” he said enthusiastically, completely ignoring the fact that he had found his wife and sister embracing on their knees.

He turned us both, and with a hand on an elbow each, he drew us out of the hall, helped us on with our coats, and over the crest of the hill to the mine site, talking animatedly the while about finding the solution to the latest problem, and his plans for the future.


	6. Chapter 6

Thereafter, at long last, Lucille and I began to forge, if not precisely a friendship, at least a partnership in the restoration of Allerdale and the acquisition of staff.  
She began to thaw toward me, tolerating my puppy-ish enthusiasm for the project. Slowly, I began to see her interest spark and she proved to be thoughtful and intelligent – and quite a good native guide! She was indispensable, and I told her so frequently.

“Edith, we simply need to apply to ‘The Lady’ magazine for staff, and they will forward applications. All the Great Families acquire their staff through the publication. I’ll compose the letter… if you would like?” she said, diffidently. “It is all done by post, you see.”

At last Lucille instructed me, a spark of interest in her eyes, and a tinge of color on her cheeks!

“Yes, please, sister! I welcome any suggestions you have! You will help me to interview suitable candidates, won’t you? Please?” I couldn’t help my brilliant smile. I feel it is quite a triumph to have captured any part of Lucille’s attention. I do very much need Lucille. If I am to have a successful and happy life with the family I am tied to for life, I simply must find my way into their hearts. As, somehow, they have both found their way into mine.

Thomas announced that evening at dinner that he must go to Carlisle to see about some business matter to do with his patents.

This was the moment I was waiting for! I forged ahead, clapping my hands in glee, nearly bouncing in my delight.

“Oh excellent! Lucille and I will accompany you! We need to send to ‘The Lady’,” I sought her eye to confirm the correct name and she nodded at me with a small approving smile, “…for a cook and a housekeeper, visit an architect for advice on renovations, and a Modiste about replacing draperies and carpets… Thomas you simply must have new boots, yours are quite worn through with all your clambering about on your Infernal Machine…” I chattered on enthusiastically, doing my best to ensure that Thomas takes us with him whether he will or no.

By the time I finally ran down, Lucille was staring at me in a rather bemused fashion – possibly a bit horrified at my forwardness. Thomas sat with a slight frown, his eyes flicking between myself and Lucille. They exchanged a long speaking look, and seemed to come to some accord.

Thomas nodded slightly at Lucille before speaking. “Sister, what do you think? A trip into town?”

Lucille shrugged helplessly at my enthusiasm.

“She seems to have got the bit in her teeth, Thomas. But a trip to town would be a welcome diversion for her, I suppose. She’s right, you do need new boots…”

“Good. It’s settled then. We’ll leave tomorrow. Plan on being away several days. I can’t stop longer on this trip, but we can at least get the preliminaries for the renovations started in that time.”

I relaxed and laughed, a little giddy. It feels like Christmas morning, the prospect of getting away and making a proper start, taking some real action. I think if I had had to stay behind I would have suffocated under the weight of the house. I love the house, but it is dreadfully gloomy at this time of year.

That night Thomas knocked politely on the door joining his bedchamber and mine, as I was taking down my hair.

I sat on the small chair before my vanity in my nightdress preparing for bed, wondering if I would sleep this night for the excitement fluttering in my stomach over our trip to town in the morning.

“Come in.” I called. Thomas pushed the connecting door open and strode into my room, finding me with a broad smile and lifting me from my seat with an embrace.

“Well done, Edith.” He murmured.

“I…what? I don’t understand Thomas, well done for what?” I asked, bewildered.

“For bestirring my sister, at last! I’ve been worried about her, she has seemed so listless and distant since we returned to England. I had begun to despair of her. But you, Edith, with your energy and your very American persistence are succeeding in prodding her out of her listless state.

I blinked in surprise.

"Do you mean to say that Lucille is not always so…reserved?”

Thomas frowned, reseating me at my vanity and taking up my hairbrush, to begin brushing out my hair.

“Reserved, yes, she is. She learned to be very self contained as a child, she had to, but she’s been so withdrawn. I was afraid…” he trailed off, frowning as he brushed my hair.

“But no matter. I am glad to see you two making friends…”

“Oh Thomas, sometimes she seems almost afraid of me! As if she thinks I will take something precious from her.”

“She does not trust easily. Lucille is slow to warm to people, with good reason. Mother was not kind. I hate to think what she must have subjected Lucille to while I was away at school….” Thomas’s eyes went dark and his mouth was grim, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“It must have been awful for her, being all alone here, cooped up with Mother. When I returned home after father died. Lucille was…nearly catatonic. She still refuses to speak of that time, but Lucille….she has scars on her body that our loving mother put there, that she will never explain.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, plainly reining in his temper. I bowed my head to hide the tears that gathered and he returned to brushing my hair.

“So, thank you, my love, for your kindness and patience… I know in time she will come to love you as I do.”

Now the tears spilled over onto my cheeks. This is the first time Thomas has professed to return my affections for him. To love me.  
He set my hairbrush down and tilted my face up to his.

“What’s this?” He brushed my tears away. “No more tears now, darling. Things are looking up! Come…”

Thomas lifted me from my seat and walked with me to the bed, bending and kissing me.

My heart fluttered at the touch of his lips and I couldn’t help but rise up on my toes a little. Oh, closer…

Thomas’s hands wove themselves into my hair on either side of my face, his long fingers tangling in the strands, palms lying over my cheeks as he guides my head in a searching kiss.

I have come to understand that my husband is an astute lover, paying close attention to me. It’s overwhelming. Thomas lifted his head from the kiss and held my face tilted to his, staring into my eyes, my hands helplessly wrapped around his wrists.

He laid my cheek against his chest, and held my head there, his heart thundering in my ear. I felt his lips kissing through my hair. I… have never felt more cherished.

I began to rub my cheek against his chest and slid my hands into his dressing gown against his warm smooth skin, feeling greatly daring. I looked up at Thomas to see his reaction to my forwardness. He smiled gently down at me, encouraging me.

Sliding one hand up behind his neck and standing on my toes, I pulled his head down into my kiss. His breath stuttered and his hands moved around my waist, bringing my body up tight against his, tongue diving into my mouth.

He bent and lifted me onto the bed, laying me gently down. He crawled up my body, and stared down into my face, his eyes flicking flickering over each feature, for all the world as if he were trying to decide where to bite, his pupils so wide his eyes appeared black in the firelight. Looking at him, it was not hard to believe that Lucifer was an angel.

And then he gently nuzzled into my neck, slowly dragging his body against my full-length. I ran my hands down his back, pulling at him as he laid himself in the cradle of my hips. I am certain to have made the most un-ladylike noises.

His body propped over me on his hands, Thomas dipped his head and kissed me, my mouth, my throat, and over my chest. He drew his open mouth over my bosom, nudging and teasing the peak, before sucking it into his mouth. It was as if he had pulled a string tight through my body from peak to between my legs.  
At the same time he ground his hips down against me. I cried out at the intense flash of pleasure that ignited my body. My back arched upwards with another cry when he suckled strongly again.

“Thomas, please..!”

He sat up on his knees and shrugged off his dressing gown, reaching down to pull my nightdress over my head and discard it. His hands kneaded my bosom, feathering under them and sweeping down my ribs, coming together at my navel and sweeping out to my hips.

He reached to his left and picked up my leg, bending to kiss and draw his tongue to the hollow behind my knee.

Thomas ran his hands down the inside of my thighs, his eyes intently following his hands as he pushed my legs further apart. It was the strongest mixture of sensations. I wanted to hide myself from his eyes, and yet I wanted him to look at me. I don’t understand this contradiction, but I found it very…stimulating.

Thomas’s thumbs moved to open my folds and I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed. Warm and slick, his tongue caressed me driving an involuntary cry from me in surprise. His hands slipping under my bottom and lifting, he tasted every part of me as I panted, the indescribable flowing through me.

He sucked me into his mouth and my body went rigid with delight, completely undone. Thomas continued to suckle at me as I rode wildly bucking ripples deep inside me until at last I collapsed. With a last kiss, he set me gently down and once more leaned over me on his hands. Thomas kissed my mouth, my own scent, my own taste, invading my senses, along with his soft tongue and lips.

Thomas’s prick slid up against me, seeking blindly. I tilted my hips and it pushed into me, invading me there as well, with the most wonderful delicious stretch, feeling me and filling me.

Propped on one arm looking down at me, he lifted my knee, pulling it over his hip. My ankle hooked into his waist and pulled him in tighter against me.

Thomas rolled his hips, his rhythm increasing and stroke shortening, driving small gasps of air from my lungs with the force of each thrust. His hips stuttered and he thrust hard as far as he could, his head thrown back with a shout.

He collapsed panting next to me, rolling his face into my shoulder with a small laugh.

My laugh echoed his joyous sound as I rolled toward him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The first 3 chapters were pretty much PWP. I’ve found, to my astonishment, that sometime in the interim Edith has developed a plot. Or something. You may find an inconsistency or two from the original Edith and Lucille. Definitely Sir Thomas has softened. Once again: my story bears little resemblance to Mr. del Toro’s. (I fixed it ;) Sorry/not sorry.

The next morning I woke slowly, the sun spilling into my bedchamber, my Husband’s face was silhouetted against the light, lashes lying gently on his cheek as he slumbered. Not wishing to wake him, I turned carefully onto my side, facing him, my hand under my cheek as I watched Thomas sleep. 

He has become so precious to me. I’ve no recollection of precisely when he moved from my ‘fascination’ to my 'necessity’. There is a sweetness and an odd sort of innocence in him that I had not perceived in the beginning. He has the same deep well in him that I am beginning to discover in Lucille.

In the beginning I had feared him with a strange longing. He had fascinated me, in much the same way that a mouse is fascinated by a cat. Those blazing eyes had looked at me with predatory hunger, and I had been certain that he would devour me. I had been right, too. He had devoured me, but he had made me enjoy every bite…

But his eyes did not always blaze. Sometimes he looked at me with not just desire, but with longing, as if there was something he desperately wanted that only I could give him. More than just Father’s investment, more than just an heir, more than just a wife.

I wish I could see into his soul, so that I might discover what that is. There is pain there, and loss, yes. Anger, even. But Thomas is also in possession of a mischievous charm that is not apparent in Lucille. I think I might always be a little bit intimidated by her, her self-possession is such a firm thing.

Thomas took in a deep breath as his eyelashes fluttered open, blinking at the ceiling for a brief moment before his head turned, seeking me. He smiled sweetly when his sleepy eyes found mine.

“Good morning, Wife.” he said with a lazy stretch. He raised a finger and traced my cheek. I thrilled to hear him call me that. At first he had so often called me ‘Wife’ that I feared that he had forgotten my name, but as we had come to know each other better, he called me so less frequently. It had since become a sweet, playful endearment, rather than a stern reminder of my place.

Thomas reached for me and drew me against him, my head resting on his chest and his hand gliding over my hair for long sweet minutes. I sighed in content. We will have a busy day, but for these few moments we may drink our fill of each other. Thomas pushed my chin up with his fingertips, taking my lips in gentle kisses.  
My hand drifted up his chest to his hair, my fingers weaving into the silky strands. Thomas lifted onto an elbow, rolling me onto my back, newly calloused hand trailing over my bosom, catching on my peak, and circling enticingly as he stared down at me.

“So beautiful, Edith.” he murmured, leaning to kiss me again. His fingers feathered and traced and plucked at my skin, lighting sparks in their wake.

Rolling between my thighs, he nuzzled my bosom, kissing and latching on, suckling until my back arched helplessly up with a small cry.

Reaching down, Thomas guided himself to my entrance, sliding hotly into me, his gaze searing into my heart. Home… he is home. He held himself still, letting me adjust to his prick, savoring the sensation of our joining. My head tossed and hips pushed up, impatient with the need he had so quickly ignited in my belly.

He moved then, languid at first, taking his time. He rocked us steadily as our tension slowly ratcheted upwards. Then he was driving into me over and over again, so incandescent, both of us crying out with each thrust at the sublime sensations generated by our flesh sliding against the other.

Thomas buried his face in my neck, his breath hot on my neck, a hand sliding between our bodies. His fingers rubbed against my nub as he thrust, setting off my paroxysm, my body bowing off the bed with a scream as he spilled into me with his own shout.

We collapsed, panting and boneless against each other. My heart felt as if it would pound out of my chest, gradually slowing, calming. I turned my head and kissed his cheek.

‘A very good morning indeed, Husband!” I laughingly purred into his ear. Thomas assaulted my derrière with a playful slap.

“Come along Edith! Carlisle awaits!” He pushed out of bed, grinning at me and holding his hand out to lift me to my feet. Snatching up his dressing gown, he strode through our connecting door, calling back over his shoulder.

“Hurry and get dressed, darling, we’ll be on the road within the hour!”

And so we were, but sadly our party was reduced by one. Thomas had gone to rouse Lucille from her bed and returned with the news that she felt unwell, and sent her regrets. She urged us to enjoy our travels and come back safely. Had Thomas looked the slightest bit relieved? Thus it was just Thomas and I who set out that beautiful morning.

Unable to read in the jouncing carriage, I did the next best thing. Staring out at the passing landscape, I composed my next story in my imagination. Thomas had no such difficulties reading in a moving vehicle, looking over some of the legal papers that he was was to see his solicitor about. He absently curled a long arm around me and leaned me back to rest against his body comfortably.

It was a welcome respite to reach our destination. I was nearly overcome by the continual bouncing of the carriage over what seemed like every rock and pothole in the county. My poor bottom was quite bruised! The roads here are so much worse than those back home. When I grumbled about it, Thomas had smiled with gentle amusement, and pulled me to sit on his lap.

“Our English roads are a trifle older than your American roads, you see.”

He set his papers aside and wrapped his arms around me. I must say sitting on Thomas’s warm lap was a good deal more pleasant, but not any softer than the carriage seat.

I was utterly exhausted by the time we had checked into our hotel room, Thomas making gentle love to me before we fell asleep for a short nap to recover ourselves.

We had a lovely meal in the hotel dining room which I quite devoured. Fresh, well cooked food! Thomas smiled patiently as I chattered on about finding a suitable cook.

Thomas never complains of the food at home, but I note that tonight he ate every scrap on his plate. I resolved to engage the first suitable cook to present herself at Allerdale. I’ll expect any applicant to demonstrate their skills in the kitchen before hiring anyone, of course, but then, oh then! Our current cook may retire into the obscurity she so richly deserves. In the meantime, I resolved to purchase a book on cookery and ‘have a go’ as Thomas so charmingly phrased it. Lucille would have chided him for his less than refined language.

It may be somewhat difficult to find women with the right combination of experience and youthful energy that we will require. They will need to be old enough to have acquired the necessary skills, and yet young enough to enjoy the challenges of building an appropriate staff from the ground up for Allerdale. It will be quite some time before Allerdale is entirely renovated, but work cannot begin until we have engaged Cook, Housekeeper, and Groundskeeper to manage and supervise the work.

It was after getting Thomas measured for new boots the next day that I finally got an answer to something that had been troubling me. It seemed a delicate subject and I had no wish to embarrass Lucille, or Thomas for that matter; however, Thomas has demonstrated an ability to discourse equitably on the most intimate of matters…

“Thomas?” I eyed his old boots, which were indeed quite nearly worn through, and his clothing, noting once again the very out-of-date style. Ten years, at least! His suit was beautifully made, but there were worn edges and small signs of careful repairs, if one looks closely. Lucille’s clothing shows much the same age and wear.

“My dear?” We left the shop and began to stroll arm-in-arm back to our hotel, Thomas carefully shielding me from buffeting by hurried passersby.

“Why… That is…” I floundered, searching for a delicate way to broach my curiosity. Thomas glanced down at me with a curious raised eyebrow.

“Come along Edith, out with it!” he encouraged.

“Well, why do you..? I mean…your clothing… And Lucille… She is always dressed so beautifully, but…? I stuttered to ask my question.

The open, inquiring look on Thomas’s face darkened and closed in. I watched apprehensively as Thomas’s jaw clenched briefly, but he answered me readily enough.

“We inherited our clothing, Lucille and I, from our parents. It was nearly all they left us, their clothing, a mountain of debts, and that great millstone of a house.” He spoke through a tightly clenched jaw.

“Our father was a great spendthrift while he was alive. He always was a la monde in his dress, having suits made at whim to wear to his extravagant salons and parties. Mother was much the same, always the most fashionable Lady in her set.”

There was a dark note of bitterness in his voice as I listened, increasingly disturbed.

“Mother’s last act of financial foolishness was to commission a full wardrobe of widow’s weeds and arrange a lavish funeral for my father at which to wear her newest confection. As I recall that was the only occasion that mother took Lucille along for a new dress. Her daughter must be seen to have a proper new mourning dress for the funeral, you see. I’m certain that many were surprised to find she even had a daughter.”

Thomas was definitely angry now, his words clipped and his boots striking hard on the cobblestones.

“It was the least of her abuse of Lucille, but Mother had been dressing Lucille in her own castoffs once she outgrew short skirts. At the time I thought nothing of it, but when I grew older I recognized it for the deliberate neglect it was. It was appalling, mother always going about in the latest fashions whilst her daughter languished, shut up in the nursery in cast-off clothing far too… inappropriate for a girl her age. But no one knew. Father was too self-involved to notice, and was rarely home in any case. I was away at school…” he swallowed hard, guilt in his eyes for what his sister had endured in his absence.

 

Thomas’s hand had tightened on my elbow, his fingers clutching me, but the look on his face said his grip was for his comfort, not because he was angry at me. His grip was so strong, so desperate that it hurt. And yet I would never dream of asking him to turn me loose…

Thomas’s pace had increased, his long legs eating distance smartly, causing me to have to positively scurry to keep up with him. He came to an abrupt halt, glancing around, turned us away from our hotel and went left to the park rather than right towards the Hotel, steering us onto the promenade. His eyes were huge, haunted. I believe that it was not I he was seeing, but some awful memory playing out behind his eyes. I could not think what to say to draw him back to me. I touched him, lifting my hand to his cheek and caressing it softly. My actions were entirely scandalous in such a public place, yet I could not bring myself to care for convention when my Husband needed comforting.

His eyes slowly focused on me, the light blue-green gaze meeting mine and swallowing me whole. Thomas stepped forward, his hands coming to either side of my face, staring down into my eyes before kissing me deeply, desperately shedding the past, anchoring himself in the present on my lips.

I closed my eyes at his touch my world shrinking down to the sounds of Thomas’s thumbs stroking the skin of my cheekbones, the sound of his breath. All the sounds of traffic and people and nature faded into a vague background noise.

My awareness was entirely captured by the sensations of Thomas’s hands cupping my cheeks, his long fingers reaching into my hair, small strands pulling against his fingers, lighting tiny sparks in my scalp. His lips moved over mine, his tongue insistently stroking into my mouth, invading, owning. I felt my heart pounding, my breath gasping and uneven as he kissed me.

“Edith,” he whispered, “you are the most beautiful creature in the world…” He kissed my forehead as if in some benediction. My heart stuttered and something bloomed in my chest. The sensation was like nothing less than love, wrapped so securely in his regard, cherished in his arms, love given and returned.

We stayed thus for long moments, mesmerized with each other until a passing gentleman cleared his throat quite loudly and woke us to our surroundings. Thomas started and lifted his head, staring coldly at the other man, as if he had challenged Thomas’s right to possess me… The man turned and walked swiftly away from the threat in Thomas’s expression.

Thomas stepped back, dropping his hands from my face.

“I… Forgive me, Edith I…quite forgot myself.” He swallowed hard, glancing around at our rather public environs.

He offered me a more proper elbow, I took it with reluctance. I would much rather have his kisses. Thomas steered us back the way we had come. He set a far more leisurely pace to our hotel.

Thomas leaned down and murmured low into my ear as we walked.

“I need you, wife.” His tone was low and fierce, his voice sliding down my spine to rest in the cradle of my hips. I believe it might have been my steps that quickened. Still, Thomas kept to a decorous stroll and we arrived in our room in his own due time.

The moment Thomas closed the door to our room he had me in his arms, crushing my breath away with his mouth, his tongue invading, tasting, taking…  
I found myself pushing shamelessly onto my toes to get closer. Thomas instantly lifted me into his arms and strode with me to the bed. He lay me down carefully, and that was the last gentle thing to happen that night.

He slid his hands up my skirts, up my legs to my hips and drew his blunt nails down my thighs. The rush of sensation made my limbs shake and tore a moan from me. My hands clutched his shoulders, a lifeline securing me to this earth, for I believed the feelings he invoked in me might cause me to lift from the ground and soar…

Thomas kissed down my throat, sucking lightly, leaving a trail of pink marks over my collarbones as his clever fingers worked the buttons of my bodice and loosened my laces.

Growing impatient, he left off removing my clothing and simply lifted my skirts, pushing them away from his goal.

The look on his face as his eyes beheld me, laid bare for him, of love and lust and need, undid me, tears began to trickle down my face. Thomas reached a trembling hand to the marks he had left on my thighs tracing them reverently.

“Your skin is so fine… you mark so easily…” He said in a hushed tone. I leaned up, pushing myself high to whisper my plea in his ear.

“I will wear your marks proudly… Take me, Husband!”

I pushed at his trousers and hurried him, tugging at his shirt, pulling it over his head. As soon as all the barriers were removed between us he was thrusting home. I cried out at the sudden intrusion, but my feminine moisture had flowed so copiously that there was no hindrance. Thomas positively growled as he rutted into me, gripping my hips for his assault, even as I tried to meet his every thrust.

Thomas twisted and I unexpectedly found myself atop him.

“Ride me, Edith…take me… take what you want from me… Take everything…”

I reached for his hands and pushed up, hissing as the motion sent him impossibly deeper into my body. I rocked experimentally a few times, trying to find a less…skewered position. Leaning forward, my hands on his chest and rocking back was simply delicious. And so I took him as he bade me, took what he gave, watched the sweat began to bead on his face, that delirious look as he began to thrust up into me. His prick found something inside me at this angle that I felt I would never get enough of, and I rocked harder against it. Thomas gasped with me, and moved a hand between us, his thumb finding my nub.

“Yes, Edith, oh yes…give me your bliss, it is mine… Mine!”

My climax shook me, head thrown back with a cry and clenching repeatedly over his hard intrusion. I dimly heard Thomas moaning under me, whispering endearments as I collapsed limply onto his chest.

His arms wrapped tightly around my body, cradling me securely against him as he thrust into me, seeking his own bliss with short fast strokes that drove the breath from my lungs.

He reached his pinnacle, arching upwards with a cry, stilling as he pulsed into me before bonelessly collapsing onto the bed, panting and holding me against himself.

As we both floated back to this earth, he began to stroke a hand down my hair and back.

“Edith. My wife…you are my miracle…and my redemption.” he murmured softly into my ear.

“Thomas. My husband. I think you are mine…”

At breakfast the next morning over my tea, I found myself contemplating the issue of the inherited clothing and wondering what I might do about it. I don’t wish to go trampling around in bad memories or bring up old traumas, but now that I have some inkling, I have an almost visceral need to see Lucille out of her mother’s clothing and into her own.

I glanced down at my own dress. The skirt and shirtwaist I wore were in the modern fashion, puff sleeved, loose waisted and far less tailored and constricting than Lucille’s clothing.

I set my cup down decisively in its saucer and Thomas looked up from his newspaper. I nerved myself to make my request.

“Thomas, I…would like to visit a Dressmaker today.”

“Certainly, darling.” He humored me.

“… And I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you to…endure a certain amount of indignity.”

His eyebrows climbed higher and he began to look curious.

“I… I wish to order a some new clothing in this style,” I gestured at my shirtwaist, "for Lucille. How she has endured wearing that woman’s clothing for all these years..! It would have driven me crazier than Aunt Lizzie!“

Thomas’s face had softened as I explained my errand and he nodded, his hand coming to cover and squeeze mine where it lay on the table.

"That’s very kind of you, my love. I should have thought…should have done something about it before now.” he murmured guiltily. I squeezed his hand back.

“One would hardly expect a man to notice. I should think you had more than enough to trouble yourself over! But now… it seems a problem very easy to correct with the application of a few dollars…pounds!” I corrected myself.

“But,” I bit my lip, “Lucille is…she seems very adverse to change of any kind. Talking about the house renovations with her…she, she clings to the familiar. Do you think…I mean, will she be angry or, or insulted if I, we present her with new clothing? I don’t wish to upset her…”

Thomas’s brow furrowed as he thought seriously about his sister’s probable reaction to my proposal, his thumb idly caressing the back of my hand. He stirred and looked up.

“I think that, at first, Lucille will be surprised… quite possibly shocked. She has had very little experience with gifts, you see. But I believe she would be very happy to put off Mother’s clothing for good.”

I sat back, my anxiety relieved. If Thomas says it will be all right, then it will. Thomas looked puzzled.

“But I don’t see how 'indignity’ comes into it?”

I colored and looked at him pleadingly. “You see, the seamstress will need at least some general measurements from which to work.” I made a vague gesture at my smaller, more buxom self, “I am not exactly the appropriate model for approximating Lucille’s willowy measurements. But… your sister is very like you, Husband, in both height and build. With a few obvious differences that I believe a good Dressmaker should have no difficulty adjusting for. Will you…” I blushed to ask it, “allow yourself to be measured for Lucille’s general shape and height? She is within and inch or two of your own height and slenderness, I believe.”

Thomas pursed his lips, his eyes dancing in merriment. “Well Wife, I never imagined myself being measured for a pretty new frock! But yes, for you, for Lucille, I will find a way to endure!” Thomas looks quite amused at the prospect. I decided there was no time like the present to further trespass on his good humor.

“Thank you.” I said with some satisfaction. "Then you won’t object to a trip to the Haberdasher as well, to be measured for a new suit of clothes to go along with your new boots.” I tilted my chin stubbornly when he began to protest.

“Darling, I don’t need clothing. What I have is perfectly serviceable! You needn’t –”

I have no idea where my audacity came from, but I interrupted my husband.

“Thomas.” I said firmly, “you will have new clothing. Am I not your wife and is it not my responsibility to see you clothed appropriately? Besides,” I played my trump, “Lucille will be far less likely to object to my gift if she sees that you are to receive a like gift, don’t you think?”

Thomas sat back and surveyed me with some bemusement.

"Well, wife, I cannot refute your reasoning! I suppose that our agenda is set for the day then. I’ll inquire at the hotel desk for a Dressmaker and a Tailor shall I?” he said agreeably. And thus I inveigled Thomas into his own clothing as well as Lucille. I felt rather triumphant.

It was when we were making our way to the recommended dressmakers shop that I spied it, coming to a halt with the force of my brainstorm. I stood staring at a sign overhead indicating a Luthier’s.

“Edith, what..?”

I pointed at the sign overhead. “Lucille is using your mother’s piano, is she not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Christmas is coming, Thomas.”

He pursed his lips staring at the sign with me, thinking.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit extravagant to replace a perfectly good instrument Edith?” He spoke with the worried voice of a man who has had to pinch pennies, worrying his lip.

“Is it a 'perfectly good instrument’? It was your mother’s after all. I wonder how it feels to sit down at that keyboard and be reminded every time she plays?“ I knew I was fighting dirty, but I suddenly wanted this for Lucille with a fierce passion. I had just that moment, standing on a city street, decided that I would make it my job to eradicate that woman from the house and their lives. One must pull the thorns out before applying balm, after all.

Ghosts are real. They live on in our memories. Some are benevolent, sweet memories to be cherished. And some are malevolent, haunting and poisoning us.  
"It’s for Lucille. Do you really think it is too extravagant? I unabashedly wheedled.

"No, of course not. And you’re right, it would be an inspired gift.”

“And what’s more,” I added, “I think the gift should come from you. Now that you’ve made a sale of your mining equipment… Lucille stood by you and believed in you all the while…”

“Alright, alright!” he chuckled, “I surrender! Let’s go in and see this Luthier…“ He opened the door and bowed me into the shop very grandly.

And so Lucille’s Christmas present was to be a piano of her very own, from her brother’s hands. My part of the gift was new sheet music to lift her repertoire and encourage her with some new and lighthearted music. And while Thomas was occupied with the music master, I spoke quietly with his journeyman about acquiring a new set of woodworking tools for Thomas, his old ones being quite dull, and some of the pieces lost or broken.

It was a lovely, idyllic time, just Thomas and I, almost like a proper honeymoon. Thomas’s business was successfully concluded. We had a lovely trip to the theater to see a marvelous play. In the daytime we walked about exploring the city. I had quite missed Lucille, she has never been an obtrusive presence at Allerdale, but I had found myself often wishing to turn to her to share some of my delight at new sights, or to ask her opinion about some new piece of furniture or drapery color for the house.

I had missed her quiet witticisms, and I was glad to come home to her. I had worried about her health while we were away, but was happy to find her hale and healthy when we returned, my worries groundless.

‘The Lady’ had forwarded on several CV’s and references from well regarded Cooks and Housekeepers, looking for a new position. Lucille and I spent hours going over their qualifications, debating skills and deciding what sort of persons we would agree on. Lucille wrote to the acceptable applicants and arranged for each of them to come to Allerdale for an interview. The interviews went well, we were able to agree immediately on a Cook, Mrs. Parker, who had made us a fine luncheon to demonstrate her skills. She was much the best applicant, and had actually come prepared with fresh foodstuffs to make the meal properly.

Deciding on a Housekeeper proved more difficult. I had leaned more towards a younger woman, feeling that we would need her energy and enthusiasm for the task of assembling her staff. Lucille had preferred the older woman, extolling her experience. We went back and forth for many enjoyable rounds of discussion. We eventually agreed on the younger woman, when I pointed out that the older woman was far too accustomed to managing a permanent staff, and seemed a bit put off at the idea that there was not already a staff in place for her to manage. I did not feel that she would be comfortable being responsible for finding and hiring suitable staff. Lucille acquiesced gracefully. And thus Mrs. Hastings was soon ensconced at Allerdale and taking over the running of the household smoothly and efficiently.

Thomas threw himself into a new project, something to do with designing a better braking system for train carriages. He had evolved some sort of scheme to improve the efficiency of the braking by preventing overheating, and to induce the London and Northwestern Railway company to build a spur to our little town in exchange for the workings and patents of his improvements. I thought him very clever to find a way to achieve a train depot in our little town. He expects to need it when he has his planned machining and manufactory up and running. He hopes to improve the lot of everyone in the village by providing them with good jobs at good wages.

I filled Lucille in on our doings in the city, the sights and our night at the theater. The siblings new clothing was delivered. Thomas had been correct in his assessment of Lucille’s probable reaction to being presented with new clothing of her very own. She had indeed been stunned and speechless. She had carried off her parcels to her room, disappearing for the rest of the day. I had wanted to go to her but Thomas stayed me, a gentle hand on my arm.

“No, Edith. Let her be. I’ll go in a bit after she’s had time to sort herself out.”

Thomas followed her later, returning to me in an hour or so, and assuring me that Lucille was fine. We didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but she turned up at breakfast wearing the dark blue skirt and pale blue shirtwaist. It looked very well on her. She is a handsome woman and the blue suited her. Lucille made no remark on her new clothing, though I caught sight of her fingering the fabric, or smoothing a sleeve, looking a little surprised each time to find herself clad in new clothing. I also noticed her from the corner of my eye, looking at me curiously, speculatively, as if trying to puzzle out why she had been given such a gift.  
I kept silent about it, letting her get used to her new clothing, settle into her new circumstance. Her amazement was thanks enough. I felt aglow for a week after. Lucille’s delight was a quiet thing, but her smiles made me all the more determined to bring her more reason to smile.

Lucille became more animated in our discussions of the house renovation. She suddenly seemed determined to make a clean sweep of her mother’s decor, deciding on new upholstery in colors of golds and browns, cream and yellows. Lucille’s innate taste is impeccable, and the house will look lovely when the renovations are finally finished. What’s more it will be a true home, the ghosts exorcized, and the house welcoming and caring for each of us… together as a family.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas had made it sound so easy, and yet I still do not carry the baby he promised to put in my belly. Every month I bleed, taking to my bed for a day to mourn, my emotions see-sawing wildly. Lucille… Lucille has been kind to me. She had made a point of bringing me well-wrapped bedwarmers that I could hold against my belly to soothe my cramping on the days that I kept to my bedchamber. Thomas was solicitous, but I much preferred Lucille at those times…

Thomas has never yet reproached me, but I cannot help but look for signs that I have disappointed him. Still, I can see his sorrow. Yet he has been unfailingly kind and gentle to me on these days. Honestly, some days he is so kind that I would quite like to throw my shoe at his head!

But some good has come out of those days. I find myself writing feverishly, brimming over with stories and positively itching to spill them on paper. They are both a distraction and a solace.

I wish… I wish that I could share my stories with Lucille. I believe she might even enjoy them. But of course I cannot. I had put off telling my new Husband about my little perversion, having no idea how to go about revealing such a thing. At some point it began to feel like a secret that I must keep. I expect Thomas will be very angry with me when he finds out. And I know that he will eventually… Unless I can cure myself of this driving need and craving to write. I have been spectacularly unsuccessful so far… Perhaps this is what opium eaters feel.

Writing makes me a goddess in my own world, in a way. I create my character’s reality, what my characters eat, and drink, how they lived… how they loved. I make their tribulations, their fears, and their faults. If they do something I don’t want them to do, then all I have to do is tear the paper and send it into the fire. Gone, just like that.

I must admit, it has provided me with a strange illicit thrill, oddly enjoyable, the few times that I had come close to being discovered. I’ve also written some most feverishly after a close call.

I had felt so…alive, my heart like to pound out of my chest. I was terrified, yes, but alive and excited in a way I had not experienced before. Perhaps my writing really is a perversion…

I feel guilty, as well. Terribly guilty that I keep this secret from my husband, the one person in the world with a right to all my secrets. He would have every right to be angry for my deception. I swallowed hard, even the possibility of discovery sending a jolt of oddly titilating anxiety through me.

Thomas had needed to go to Edinburgh to consult with the Engineering College there, and meet with his machiners about some technical problem. He’d been gone several days and wouldn’t be back for another week. I took the opportunity to finish editing my latest story and to package it up and mail it back home to my agent for publishing.

I woke late one night, certain I had heard the ghostly wail of a baby… I had become accustomed to the sounds the house made, the creaks and moans of the aged place, but this sound was so like a baby’s cry that it drove me out of my bed to investigate. Now even the house itself is mocking my barren state…

I pulled on my dressing gown and slippers against the chill of the house and took up a candle to light my way as I sought the origin of the sound that had awoken me. Perhaps the wind is blowing through the cracks around one of the many windows somewhere. I might contrive to block the draft that is creating the uncanny sound, and quiet the noise. I must be sure to make a note of it in my much expanding list of household repairs.

I followed the thin sound through the central hall, the cold draughts of the night guttering my candle, it’s flame flickering and dancing as I slipped through the hall. I stopped a moment in the Main Hall shivering, and looked up the grand staircase, the thread of sound lost, the light of my poor lone candle not reaching so far above.

The moon shone down through the glass dome and illuminated a silvery circle on the parquet at my feet, as I stood very still and listened to the silence. I was about to turn back to my bedchamber when the peculiar thin wail came again. I followed, drawn by the uncanny sound. I stopped before the entry to the South Wing, finding the door slightly ajar, to my great surprise. The sound was much stronger behind the door. I jerked away, startled, the hair rising on the back of my neck. That is definitely a baby’s cry, and what’s more, the sound has been joined by a low sweet singing…

For just a moment my imagination broke free, and I wondered what ghostly tale lay beyond. But no, that is no ghost child… I lay my hand on the doorknob, and I slipped quietly down the long hallway, another door ajar at the end of the corridor, light spilling from the room beyond, the sound of a fussing baby and a woman crooning quite clear now.

I pushed the door wider to peer into the room, and there, to my astonishment, I found Lucille pacing to and fro in front of the fire, singing to the bundle in her arms. She swayed in that gentle, hip rocking movement that all women seem to know, seeking to calm and soothe the agitated child in her arms with movement and song.

Lucille’s gaze flickered up at me, no surprise at my appearance betrayed in her expression or voice.

“Well come in, now you’ve found us out.” She crooned to the child. “You might as well satisfy your curiosity…”

“I, I’m sorry, Lucille. I… heard the baby crying, and thought it must be a noisy draft, so I came to investigate. I… I don’t mean to intrude…” I stuttered. The child had quieted at the sound of a strange voice.

Lucille glanced up indifferently, her face smooth.

“No matter. You’re here now.” She sighed with resignation and shrugged a dressing gown covered shoulder, her dark night plait hanging down her back to her hips.

“Come… and meet your niece.”

“My… niece? How can she be my niece? My sister has no children, and I have no other siblings.” I asked, confused, as I stepped forward curiously.

“But you do…” she said quietly. “Am I not your Sister by Marriage?”

I paused, my brain stuttering.

"This is your baby? But oh, how wonderful! But… but who is your husband, Lucille? Why have I never met him?”

She snorted impatiently, ignoring my questions.

“Do you want to see her or not? Come here.” she commanded briskly.

I set my candlestick on a table, and stepped up to Lucille, peering into the blankets in her arms as she crooned at the child. A tiny baby, so small, peered up at me from her swaddling, chewing on her fist.

My hand reached to run a finger over her soft little cheek. "Oh, how sweet…” I murmured.

She had silky dark hair curled around her ears and over her pretty brow, fine pale porcelain skin and long, dark lashed blue eyes the exact shade of Lucille’s. Her gaze on me was curious and interested.

“How old is she?”

“Nearly a year now… she was borne in on the spring wind…” Lucille whispered fancifully. I looked up at her in surprise.

“But… she’s so small.”

Lucille nodded. “Yes. She was born wrong…” She gently pulled the blankets away from the tiny girl. I could see now that her poor little body was stunted, twisted, her sweet head far too large for her tiny body.

“Oh…” my fingers trembled to my lips and my eyes welled with tears. “Oh Lucille, she’s so beautiful.”

Her eyes snapped to my face in surprise, a small flash of something very like relief on her face. Had she expected me to react with in disgust or revulsion to her poor babe’s differences? I think this is the saddest, most beautiful thing I have ever seen… My tears spilled over my cheeks.

“May…may I hold her? Please?”

Lucille’s fingers briefly tightened over the child’s blankets, as if reluctant to share, but then she took a breath, nodded and gently transferred the little scrap into my arms, tucking her blanket securely around her.

“Hello, little one…” I murmured, my own body falling automatically into that comforting rhythmic sway. “Aren’t you the loveliest thing?”

The baby removed her fist from her mouth and grinned up at me, the edge of a tiny white tooth just peeking through her lower gum.

“She’s teething…” Lucille said in explanation of her earlier distressed cries.

“What’s her name?” I asked, suddenly realizing that Lucille hadn’t said.

“We call her Poppet.”

“But, doesn’t she have a proper name?” I asked curiously.

Lucille shook her head sadly. “…We never expected her to live, you see. But here she is, nearly a year on… I, we have become accustomed to calling her Poppet…”  
“But will she live now? Having got this far?” I nuzzled her sweet milky cheek, inhaling the lovely scent that only babies have.

“That is in God’s hands…” Lucille said sadly. She reached for her daughter and took her back into her arms.

“But why do you keep her hidden away?”

Lucille looked at me in exasperation.

“Surely you cannot be that naive, Edith! An unmarried woman with a baby..?” She shook her head. “Thomas would be ruined socially. Your parents would never have let him near you if it were known that his sister had a bastard.” she said bitterly.

I reached out to stroke the baby’s head. “Lucille… don’t call her that! What business could it possibly be of anyone else’s?” But I knew Lucille was correct. Mama would have swooned at the very idea of marrying me into such a family, no matter how many titles came with my husband.

Poppet fell asleep in her mother’s arms very shorty after that and I reluctantly took my leave as Lucille tucked her gently into her cradle.

I lay awake most of the rest of that night staring through the dark at the faintly lighter gray square of the canopy of my bed. I pondered Poppet’s existence, trying to understand how they had concealed her.

Questions boiled in my mind. Who is the child’s father? Had Lucille brought Poppet to America with them? How could I have lived here all these months and not known of Poppet, not had any idea that there was a baby in residence? As I contemplated that, it dawned on me that the only reason I heard Poppet crying is because the intervening doors had not been entirely shut. Had Lucille meant me to find them?

The more I thought about that, the more certain I became that she must have. I understood why she felt she had to keep this secret. Most people would have shunned her and her entire family if it were known, and I knew without a doubt Lucille would never allow anything to hurt Thomas.

She must have believed she was doing the right thing for everyone by keeping Poppet concealed as much as possible. It was with no little shock that I realized that she, and Thomas, have been deceiving me since first we ever met.

But… Lucille had finally trusted me with her most precious secret. I had seen clear gratitude on her face when I had coo’d over her child, rather than recoiled.

Poppet quickly became a bright spot in my days. Lucille allowed me to come every afternoon to play with her. She seemed to find me tolerably amusing. I’m sure she was just as much entertainment for me as I was for her! Poppet was a happy baby, much given to smiles and giggles and chortles.

She delighted in the little finger games and nursery rhymes that I remembered from my own childhood, Itsy-Bitsy Spider and Ring-Around-a-Rosy, and the like.  
Lucille usually occupied herself with sewing in a nearby chair while I played with Poppet. More often than not, she sat with her work in her lap, watching enthralled as I laughed with and tickled Poppet, a small smile curling curving her lips whenever Poppet giggled.

One day I looked up at Lucille in her chair near the fire, watching us from our place on the carpet, myself on my belly, and Poppet propped up on pillows chortling as I made the fingers of my hand into an ant, traveling around the carpet and narrating its journey to Poppet.

“Don’t you want to come join us Lucille?” I invited.

“Oh no, Edith. I don’t know how.” she confessed.

"What do you mean?” I blinked at her, confused.

"I don’t know how to…play. We were never taught all these silly songs and stories, never allowed to giggle and roll on the carpets…”

It’s true, I’ve never seen her play with Poppet or recite nursery rhymes. Oh, Lucille is an excellent mother, Poppet is always clean and well tended, warm and fed. Lucille holds her and sings to her, but she never makes silly faces or tickles the baby to incite her laughter.

Once again, I am caught unawares and horrified by Lucille’s impoverished childhood. She grew up in this beautiful luxurious house, and another even more grand in London, and yet the only scraps of love or laughter she had were whatever she could snatch with Thomas, as if they were thieves to steal a little happiness.

“Well,” I said. “That won’t do, will it Poppet?” I tickled the girl as she gurgled and picked her up, taking her to stand in front of Lucille. I continued to speak to Poppet.

“Your mama is going to teach you to dance! Won’t that be fun!”

The smile dropped off Lucille’s face and she looked stricken.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Edith! How can she possibly learn to dance?! Her legs don’t work!”

It’s true, little Poppet’s legs were useless, permanently bent and locked at hip and knee, like a little frog. She could do no more than wriggle her torso, all her ability to move in her upper body.

“How silly your mama is, isn’t she Poppet?” I continued to speak to her in that sing-song voice she loved. “Of course Poppet can dance! She doesn’t need legs, all she needs is someone to hold her and dance with her, isn’t that right, pretty Poppet?”

“Come along, Lucille, up you get!” I jollied her along and plopped the baby in her arms.

“But…” Lucille sputtered, “but there’s no music!”

“That’s all right! I’ll sing for you, shall I? What do you say Mama, shall we teach little Poppet to waltz?” And I began to sing the Tennessee waltz.

Lucille looked at me helplessly. So I put my arms around the both of them and began the familiar steps, Lucille followed my lead with the baby between us. I continued to sing and lead them through several rapid turns, Poppet laughing wildly and clutching at her mother’s arm as she spun. I let go, not enough breath to both dance and sing, as they continued.

Poppet’s laughter was contagious, and soon Lucille was laughing along with her as she waltzed them around the room. It was wonderful to see Lucille being gay and carefree.

She collapsed laughing with Poppet into the armchair at the end of my song.

“I’m sure your tempo was off there at the end!” she admonished, “You sped up!”

I laughed back. “I know! It was fun, wasn’t it! You wait, next time I’ll sing a polka!”

I sat and watched the two of them, both bright eyed and rosy cheeked. Little Poppet so closely resembles her mother…

Poppet began to fuss a bit once they had recovered from their dance. Lucille’s hand went automatically to her blouse, opening it and cuddling the hungry baby to her breast. It was my turn to be taken aback. Lucille had never fed the baby in my presence before. In fact, I had never seen a woman nurse a child. I watched, fascinated as Poppet swallowed rhythmically, her little hand curled softly on Lucille’s breast.

Lucille winced.

“Mind your manners Miss! Those little teeth are sharp!”

Poppet let go and grinned up at Lucille, mischief dancing in her eyes, as if she had understood Lucille’s words. When Lucille raised an admonishing eyebrow, Poppet pushed her little head back and searched for the source of her dinner, latching on once again. I watched, nearly moved to tears as Lucille tenderly stroked Poppet’s dark curls while the baby nursed. She hummed quietly, soothing the baby into sleep.

Lucille’s demeanor is always quiet, but she has seemed to enjoy my daily visits. She began to relax in my presence and we began to talk of other things, to form a friendship, after a fashion. At last I felt I was finding my place in this family. Sometimes Lucille asked me about my own childhood, and life back home in New York, listening to my tales intently.

I began to realize that I really must confess my little peccadillo to the both of them. It’s weight on my conscience had begun to grow, and seemed to always be in the back of my mind. As my intimacy with Lucille grew I began to feel that I was perpetrating a lie, a betrayal, by not speaking up.

I yearn to please my husband. I have never felt so cherished as when I bask in his approval. Oddly, I have the same desire to be pleasing to Lucille. There’s something about her, beyond her strong feminized resemblance to my beautiful husband. Lucille’s…strength. It draws me. She draws me, somehow. Her strength and her courage and her unfailing love for her brother, my husband. Could I ever begrudge Thomas the love and devotion Lucille clearly has for him? Should I be jealous of his equally strong regard for his sister?

No. It is simply not in me to disparage their family connection. They have a sibling closeness that I had lacked with my own sister.

But Lucille is fast becoming a more dear sister to me. Dorothea had only bothered to correspond three times with me and yet I had been here more than half a year. We had never been close friends, and with the distance between America and England…

Lucille is here every day, providing companionship and more interest than my sister ever had. I have not the least understanding of this emotion I hold for my sister-in-law, I only know that it is compelling.

I am generally a cheerful person. I can be quite reticent, shy even, with the unfamiliar. But with my new family my cares are unwound. I feel more and more a part of my new life, not simply tempest-tossed by the whims of fate, or my father.

That evening Thomas returned from Edinburgh, just in time for the evening meal. I watched my husband and sister converse of the day’s doings, their pale beautiful faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight, casting color in their cheeks and warmth in their eyes.

I suppressed a sigh, knowing that I am forever excluded from that bond. Nevertheless, I yearn to be part of it. I contemplated the pair, thinking how I would describe them in the pages of a story. Painting the blue of his eyes and the raspberry of her lips for my readers. Words crafted themselves in my head, simple descriptions to portray such complex characters. Thomas’s intent attention, Lucille’s regal bearing. So different and yet so much the same…

”…. Edith?“ I heard my name and focused on Thomas and Lucille, their faces turned toward me inquiringly. I blinked, abruptly becoming aware that I had been asked a question.

"Thomas,” Lucille drew his attention. “Your bride is quite falling asleep at the table.” she observed. Thomas’s eyes carefully looked me over, a small crease of concern between his eyebrows.

“Quite right, Lucille.” He stood, setting his napkin beside his plate.

“If you will excuse us sister, we will retire.”

The way his eyes drew me and held me… I shivered unconsciously. Thomas held my chair for me and offered a hand to help me stand.

As I stood, Thomas’s eyes went over my shoulder and a fleeting look of sadness crossed his face. I turned my head to see Lucille share his glance, her face reflecting back his momentary sadness with a small shake of her head.

His attention returned to me and he gently turned us, wrapping an arm solicitously around my waist, and guided me from the room.

I must finally confess to them, that I often commit the sin of writing my little fictions, my penny dreadfuls, and that I have committed the further sin of profiting moderately well from my scribblings.

Truthfully, my little books have sold so well that my agent assures me that I could pay for all the renovations of Allerdale Hall from my own pocket. However, I will allow Father’s wedding gift to fund all of it. He sold me for a titled grandson, after all. He might as well pay dearly in the currency he cares for more than me – currency.

I am ashamed to say it, but I mean to enjoy the fact that my father will be funding my new family’s estate. Of whom he would assuredly disapprove quite violently, if he ever knew the first thing about Poppet. But I care not. He was perfectly prepared to sell me to Sir Thomas, a business deal, no more, whether I will or no. It was only serendipity that I fell in love with Thomas the first moment I saw him stride through the office doorway, his strong shoulders and tall form blocking the light momentarily. I had gaped at him as if he were an apparition as he removed his hat and spoke to me in his cultured tones, offering his card.

In that instant, I went from being the most unfortunate of girls, having been sold to a stranger for a wife, all unknowing, to the most fortunate of women, to have laid eyes on Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet. Love and longing I had aplenty at the beginning. I was a nervous, unsure and shy bride, desperate not to displease him or disappoint the stranger to whom I had pledged my life and obedience. But over these few months I have come to know him better, to understand what moves and drives him.

And now he will discover what moves and drives me… I write. I must write or the stories pile up in my head, driving me to distraction. I don’t know what makes me this way, but I cannot be other.

I shivered with a touch of foreboding, not knowing how my revelations will be received – yet I have some small hope that they will not utterly reject me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are triggers here. This was a very difficult chapter to write. Please forgive any grammatical or spelling errors, I can’t bear to read it one more time. Sorry.

A scream rent the night, jerking me from my sleep, a long wailing cry of grief and despair.

“Thomas!” I gasped. “Thomas, wake up!” I shook him beside me as another cry sounded.

Thomas’s head shot up from his pillow, “Lucille!” he gasped, leaping out of bed. He was out the bedchamber door in seconds, snatching up his dressing gown and thrusting his arms into it, covering his nudity as he ran, before I was even out of the bed.

I scrambled out of bed, dreading the disaster that must surely await, thrusting my feet into slippers, shrugging my dressing gown on and scooping up Thomas’s slippers on my way, running frantically down the corridor to the South Wing, and Lucille’s rooms.

There, oh there, I found Lucille clutching the swaddled form of her little Poppet, moaning over her tender little body. Thomas had his arms around them both, his face contorted in grief and tears streaming unheeded down his face.

“No…” I moaned, falling to my knees. “No, oh please no… dear God…” Half-praying to a God who had plainly rejected our prayers. Knowing that any poor comfort I could offer would be a pale reflection of the grief and awful sympathy I feel.

We washed her poor, crooked little body gently, smoothing her pretty little curls for the last time, and dressed her in what should have been her christening gown, Lucille and I. Thomas had left us sometime before, gone to make her coffin.

After she was washed and dressed, Lucille took the babe in her arms and sat in the rocking chair. Her face, so long schooled to be still, was smooth and calm, if one ignored the tears coursing down her face. She sang to her babe… lullabies of such beauty and longing.

Her voice, more beautiful than angel’s choirs, devastated me. I could not help but fall to my knees at her feet, and buried my face in her lap, moved to tears.  
Thomas returned to stand behind Lucille his hand on her shoulder, bent over her as if sheltering her and murmuring in her ear. If she heard whatever he said, comprehended it at all, she showed no sign.

Thomas stood watching his sister for some reaction to his words, but still she sang. A profound look of sorrow and concern crossed his face, and he too took his place on his knees, bowing to her grief, and his own.

He reached to lay his hand tenderly on the child. His child, I see now. I watched Thomas’s face, torn in grief, saw the loving way he spoke to Lucille, the way he touched the child, and realized that I had met Poppet’s father after all. Lucille had refused to speak about the baby’s parentage, but I find myself not at all surprised, as if I had known it already, somewhere in the back of my mind. I was only saddened that Lucille kept this from me. That he had kept it from me. I had never witnessed Thomas with Poppet, would never have known how he felt about his child if I hadn’t seen him in this moment. There it is, all raw and open, his love for his daughter, his love for his sister.

This beautiful, loving little family, forged amid the shards of more than one shattered childhood…

Their countenances speak of such love and loss, such unimaginable pain, that my reaction was only sympathy and grief. Taboo or not, Thomas and Lucille share something profound, how could I judge or recoil at so heartfelt a thing?

Thomas leaned his face into Lucille’s neck, weeping quietly, the tears running from his cheeks to wet the skin of her throat as she sang sweetly to her child, their child. We sat there for the longest time, we three, mourning the loss of this fragile little life.

Lucille sang on, her eyes grieving as she gazed at the cooling little body in her arms. Thomas hung over the two of them, his big hand cupping the baby’s head, and shed silent tears. And I, I lay my head on Lucille’s knee watching them through tears of my own, sobbing my own grief into her skirts.

Eventually, a very long endless time later, Lucille’s voice faltered and wore away. It began to dawn on me that we were all dry-eyed and silent. I stirred, becoming aware of the cramping of long unmoved limbs. I glanced up at Thomas to find his eyes meeting mine. Glancing at Lucille, he nodded to me and we both sat stiffly up, taking deep breaths. Thomas put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“Lucille… sister…” When she did not stir from her trance over the tiny body, Thomas stood and stepped around the chair. His arms sliding under her, he lifted them easily.

Lucille gave her first sign of awareness in hours, her head turning against her brother’s chest as he carried her, the child cradled against her bosom. By the time Thomas reached her bed, me trailing along behind them, she had rolled her face into his chest and begun to sob, her reserve broken and gone.

“Our baby, Thomas… she’s gone. Gone,Thomas…"she whispered hoarsely.

"I know, darling.” he said tenderly. Standing at her bedside, Thomas looked over his shoulder at me, tipping his head at the bed, plainly asking my assistance. I hurried around them and drew the bedcovers down. Thomas sat her gently down, leaning down and murmuring in her ear once again.

Her chin jerked down and she raised tear filled blue eyes so like her brother’s to his, nodding, and allowing Thomas to gently take the baby’s body from her. Her eyes flickered from his to the child, clinging to her last look.

He turned slightly toward me, and handed the small bundle off to me, his hand reaching softly to tuck the baby’s blanket under her chin and trace a finger over her cheek, before turning back to Lucille.

I carried the little scrap to her cradle on the far side of the bed. I held her for a moment, looking down into her sweet little face. After pressing my own farewell kiss onto her cooling brow, I laid her in her cradle. Tucking and smoothing her blankets around her, I stood staring down at this small niece whom I had only so briefly known, the tears running freely down my cheeks.

I turned to find Lucille’s head draped over Thomas’s shoulder as he attempted to undo the myriad tiny buttons down the back of her bodice. I moved to sit on the bed behind her and brushed Thomas’s hands away, swiftly unbuttoning and releasing Lucille from her dress. I pulled the ties of her corset and began to unlace her as she leaned dry-eyed against her brother, staring vacantly over his shoulder.

Thomas maneuvered her up and I pulled her dress off her arms and down to her waist. I then removed her corset, leaving her in her chemise. Thomas gently lifted her limp body and allowed me to pull her dress off her body.

He cradled her in his arms as I draped the dress over the armchair. Sitting back down behind her, I began to remove the pins from her hair, her black locks tumbling from her head down her back. I picked up the hairbrush from her vanity and began to hum quietly to her as I brushed out her hair into a long dark shining fall. I braided it, tying it off with a bit of ribbon. Thomas directed me with his eyes to her wardrobe and I crossed to find a nightgown for her.

Thomas tenderly peeled her chemise over her head, and I replaced it with her nightgown, letting the garment fall down around her hips. He lay her back on the pillows, pulling her plat gently over her shoulder to lie over her breast.

He cupped her cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead, then stood to tuck the bedclothes around her. Her hand groped blindly upward and clutched his shirt.  
“Don’t leave me, Thomas!” she pled, suddenly frantic, “Please…!” His hand covered hers gently.

“Alright, darling. I’m here. I won’t leave you…”

She nodded and relaxed, her eyes falling closed, but her hand still holding tightly to his shirt. He smoothed a hand rhythmically over her hair, crooning to her.  
We both sat by her side as she finally slipped into sleep, watching over her. I found myself stroking her arm in time to Thomas’s stroking of her hair.

My own eyes began to drift shut and I caught myself swaying on the verge of sleep. I should go. Let her sleep. Let them sleep, I amended, looking at the exhausted lines in Thomas’s face.

I moved quietly to stand, trying not to disturb, but they opened identical blue eyes as I moved.

“No… Don’t go. Don’t…don’t leave me, sister…” she whispered, her voice exhausted. I wrapped my arms around her.

“No darling, I, we won’t go…we will stay right here with you…” My eyes sought Thomas’s, wondering if he preferred me to go, but he nodded gratefully at me, lifting and moving Lucille to the center of the bed.

“Lie down with her here, Edith…” lifting the bedcovers and sliding my legs beneath them. I turned on my side to face her, my arm across her middle. I lay my head comfortingly on her shoulder. Thomas stood and bent, surprising me with a sweet kiss and a caress on the cheek before he went around the bed and slid in beside her. Turning on his side and cradling her head against his shoulder, we all finally slept, seeking warmth and comfort from each other.

The sunlight came through the window, warming my face and blinding me briefly when I opened my eyes in the quiet. Sometime in the night I had rolled over. I found myself hugging a pillow to my chest, Lucille wrapped around me from behind, an arm securing us closely together, my feet tangled with hers. I looked over my shoulder and felt her sleeping breath fanning across my cheek. I could see Thomas beyond her, wrapped around behind Lucille, much as she was wrapped behind me, his eyelashes sleeping innocently on his cheeks, breathing deeply.

I felt a deep contentment at the sight, the feel, of the two of them curled around me. I closed my eyes, luxuriating in the precious closeness, and slowly sank back into sleep.

When I awoke, it was to find Thomas gone, along with the cradle beside the bed. It had been replaced by a tiny coffin.

Lucille lay staring dry eyed at the simple pine box, her face once again marble smooth, cool and distant. I sat up against the headboard and ran my hand gently over her hair, petting her and letting her know she was not alone.

Thomas arrived, carrying a tray of tea and toast, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking at Lucille pleadingly. She heaved a great sigh and sat up next to me. Thomas poured out, and we sat silently drinking our tea. He broke a slice of toast up and dipped a small piece into her tea, holding it out to her. She turned her head away from the morsel, but Thomas insisted she eat, patiently encouraging and hand feeding her.

We buried the tiny coffin under the lone tree to the south of the house, overlooking the wild desolate moor. In the grave that Thomas had dug himself that morning. Tears spent, we repaired to the house where Cook provided a proper breakfast that none of us could eat.

I could not honestly say that I remember that day, it all went by in a desolate haze of tears and broken off sobs. I could not bear to witness their grief, but I could not bear to be alone with mine either. 

After sleeping all three piled comfortingly together last night, we each went back to our separate lonely beds that night.

I confess, I did not sleep well alone any longer. I, who had slept alone all my childhood and who, as a new bride, had doubted my ability to sleep in the same bed as my Husband, found it all but impossible to sleep alone now. I spent many, many lonely hours staring at the dark ceiling of my chamber over the next nights, lit only by the banked embers in the fireplace, contemplating all the dark days to come, no relief in sight, more surely oppressed in my loneliness and grief than at any time in my life. I had no experience of grief of this kind. My heart simply ached continually.

Lucille stayed in bed for nearly a week when Thomas had put his foot down, and forced her to at least get up and get dressed every day. She drifted about the house, her cool mask firmly back in place. She spent most of her days in the music room playing dirges and requiem music, slow sad music that matched our days…

My Husband was in not much better case, spending all his hours working on his mining equipment or in his workshop, in what solitary contemplation I know not. I only knew he was avoiding us. Avoiding me. And I could not fault him, for the sight of him would always engender tears from me.

And I, I spent my days rambling over the moor with the little dog, desultorily throwing his little red ball for him. He was the only spot of energy or cheer to be found on Crimson Peak in those long weeks, and sometimes his antics would startle a laugh out of me.

When the cold biting wind at last drove me indoors, I would sit in the music room, pretending to read and listening to Lucille play. Sometimes, I sought to lift my spirits by sitting at my writing table, trying to compose a book of short stories, but all my writings came out flat and as gloomy as the atmosphere.

I missed the Lucille I had been coming to know, missed her keen observations, her quiet amusement, her sharp wit. Most of all I missed her…her fellowship. Though I might spend several hours each day in her presence, this drawn, hollow-eyed and silent wraith is not the companion with whom I had become used to enjoying my days.

I miss precious Poppet. I know my grief is a pale thing compared to the grief of a mother for her babe, and that Lucille must be allowed to mourn in her own way, and I would not intrude on that.

But pale or not, my own grief is very real, and I endured not only my grief for Poppet, but my grief for the loss of the family we were building, the comradeship that we had. Now we are each alone, and isolated from each other. I have not had so much as a touch on the hand, a warm glance, or a kind word from either of the siblings since the day we buried the precious girl, and it is as if all light has gone from my world. I am so alone and I feel I might wither away with it…

Thomas has withdrawn into himself as well, as pale and silent as Lucille. He no longer speaks of his doings or his machinery or his plans, staring into space with a vaguely bewildered, saddened expression on his face. He does not notice me, nor pay me any mind. He notices Lucille though. He cajoles her to eat and even manages to get her to take a few bites. I had thought I could never begrudge their connection with each other, but now I am ashamed to find myself jealous of the pair. Jealous that Lucille listens to him when she gives no indication of hearing me. Jealous that he speaks to her, but not to me. I am so ashamed of myself, of this growing jealousy of their bond, and whatever comfort they can take in each other. I feel selfish for wishing I could share in that comfort. But I am firmly shut out of that circle.

Thomas hasn’t been to my bed in weeks. Indeed, he has not so much as laid a hand or a passing kiss on me in all that time. I feel I will starve from the lack of simple human touch. I am beginning to wonder if the three of us did not also die that night.

Life continued in that dreary way, and the weather cooperated, wind constantly moaning around the eaves, rain coming down in sheets until I began to fancy that the world was grieving with us. And then, slowly, as it does, life began to reassert itself. I gradually realized that the sun was beginning to shine more often, and remembering Poppet’s sweetness did not bring the same choked tears.

Thomas began to speak more, commenting on his day’s work, or relaying something one of his workmen had said. Lucille began to look on with more interest. No one thing changed or propelled us out of our grief, and that would always be part of each of us, but the sharp edge had begun to mellow.

Spring would soon be upon us, the days beginning to lengthen and warm. I was able to persuade Lucille to come walking with me on the sunnier days. The workmen would soon be here to begin repairs on Allerdale and this provided for some desultory conversation. We all began slowly to look forward instead of back, for life continues.

Thomas, however, had still not returned to my bed and I had was far too reticent to approach the subject. Perhaps it was not my place. Perhaps he had changed his mind about getting a child on me. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to think of another baby. Perhaps he didn’t like me any longer…

I began to have… dreams. Dreams from which I would awaken throbbing and panting. Dreams of yearning and anticipation and fulfillment. Dreams filled with Thomas looking at me, touching me, tasting me. But I awaken each morning, rise from my lonely bed, and carry on living, a little bit at a time.

My mind has grasped onto one idea with persistence, refusing to let go. Lucille and Thomas had kept Poppet secret from me, and the knowledge of it eats at me, telling me that I was not good enough, not trusted, not needed. And the knowledge of my own secret is becoming just as corrosive.

It’s time now. I need to spill my secret. I have begun to feel that keeping my writing secret is stoppering my life. Writing is no longer a solace, all my stories stagnant and stuck in my throat, hovering just out of reach. And I will never truly be part of this family if I refuse to let them know all of me.


	10. Chapter 10

I really couldn’t put it off any longer, and so I made my plan to tell them at dinner. Perhaps I’m giving myself too much importance, but it seemed to me that what had been hindering… 

I don’t know, the formation of a solid family bond, were the secrets we each harbor? I cannot continue to withhold myself if I want a true family I gathered my courage as I gathered my papers, my contracts and my bank statements. I prepared and memorized a little introductory explanation.

I would lay it all out on the table and let the chips fall where they may.

Father would have been furious and apoplectic that I would be so forward as to be a successful authoress. Or to dabble in business of any kind. Father firmly believed that the role of women was solely to be decorative. Everything about this would have been anathema to his sensibilities. 

He would have thundered and pounded on tables… and then he would have demanded my proceeds. The money that I had worked for, with no other help, earned through my own hard work and abilities. Women, especially young unmarried women, were not legally allowed to own property or have control of money, nor to do business without the permission of their fathers or other male guardian. He would not see his appropriation of my hard-earned assets as anything but his due.

Mama… Mama would have had hysterics. If it became known that I wrote those Penny Dreadfuls that the Society Matrons were so keen to keep out of the hands of their daughters… Well! All hell would break loose, to borrow a phrase that I overheard one of Thomas’s workmen use. I would assuredly have been ostracized from polite society and Mama exiled right along with me. Mama would be the one who would push me into the attic and turn the key herself, lest my secret got out. Mama had spent all my lifetime trying to make me over into a properly demure and biddable girl. I sighed. Obviously she had failed miserably. Yes, it would be the attic for me, without doubt!

I fidgeted my nerves out all during dinner, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I was unable to pay my usual attention to Thomas’s account of his doings today. I became aware that he had asked me a question though I had no earthly idea what it might have been. I chanced a look up and found both of them staring at me, waiting for my response.

“I’m sorry,Thomas… what did you say?” I snatched up my wine glass and took a fortifying swallow.

“I asked you if there is something the matter, Edith darling.” He repeated kindly.

Lucille’s elegant brow lifted and her lips twitched as she patted them with her serviette, as I hesitated.

“Edith, you really mustn’t try to dissemble. You’re quite bad at it…” her eyes danced in amusement.

“I… I… I…” I stuttered, panicked that my laboriously prepared speech had utterly deserted me.

“Sister, don’t tease.” Thomas said firmly, but I could see the amusement in his face as well. “What is it, wife?” He demanded gently.

My words gone and throat dry, I wordlessly picked up my stack of papers from the chair beside me and set them on the table between the two of them unceremoniously. I sat back in my chair and took a rather large gulp of my wine. Both sets of eyebrows went up in identical expressions of bemusement as they looked at the stack of legal documents. Thomas picked up the top set and began to read. Lucille began on the second set. Both faces were carefully blank.  
Heaven help me. I wanted to crawl under the table. Instead, I sat decorously in my chair and finished my glass of wine. I could feel the heat crawl up my face, as I stared determinedly at a small spot of spilled wine on the table cloth, awaiting their verdict and my fate. My belly kept shivering in my anxiety.

A small sound from Lucille drew my eyes and I looked up as she set my papers next to her plate.

“Thomas, it seems our little Edith is far more than just a pretty face…” Lucille said.

I glanced at my Husband.

“Hmmm….A good deal more than just a pretty face, I should say.” A satisfied little smile spreading across his face as he handed the last document to Lucille. My bank statement. She took it in her long fingers, her eyes skimming rapidly.

“Edith! There’s over $60,000 in this account!” She looked at me in astonishment, her mouth falling open. I blushed and nodded. Thomas began to laugh.

“Darling, you clever thing! However did you get your father to agree?!”

I cleared my throat hard, and tried to work up my voice. I managed, barely audibly.

“I…didn’t ask. I met a law student at the library while I was researching the…er… legalities, and he was intrigued enough to help me. I believe he used it as an exercise for his contracts law class. You, you’re not angry?” I could not comprehend his reaction, having braced myself for storms and recriminations.

“Good Lord, no! This is brilliant, darling! Your father the fearsome businessman, with a reputation for eating young lawyers for breakfast…” Thomas chuckled.

"How did you manage it?”

“I… Thomas… Husband…“ I swallowed hard and forced myself to say it. "Well, you see, I…” I put my hand over my eyes, blocking the sight of his face, of her face…

“I wrote under a male nom-de-plume. We… I structured the financials so that ‘Robert’ had a co-signatory on the account… he having somewhat flouted convention by putting my name forward as an authorized user…”

Dear heavens this is hard… I shifted in my seat.

Thomas lifted a brow.

“Edith darling, spit it out! What did you do, precisely?”

In a rush I explained.

“I faked a marriage certificate between myself in my own name, and my nom-de-plume…” I blushed bright red to confess my very illegal bit of forgery.

This time it was Lucille that burst out laughing. I rushed on.

“So that I could have legitimate and legal access to the book royalties that my nom-de-plume was earning, you see…”

Thomas’s face had instantly turned serious, his brows coming down over his nose.

“Edith. Do I understand you? You are in possession of a marriage certificate with another man, dated before our own wedding?” His voice stayed calm, but his eyes narrowed. I swallowed.

“Well… yes. It was the only way, do you see?” I pleaded with him to understand. Lucille turned to my Husband.

“Thomas?” They had one of their moments of silent communication. Thomas looked almost anguished, the corner of his lip dipping. Lucille turned to me.

“Thomas is afraid of the possibility of your marriage to him being void.” She looked at him another moment and re-addressed me. "He’s afraid that you will think that he only wants to fix the irregularities because you have…means.“

Lucille sat straight and looked me in the eye. "Now, right now Edith, is your chance to remove yourself from your marriage to Thomas, if you so wish.”

“No!” I lurched forward, horrified. "…That is, if he’ll still have me.“ I glanced up at Thomas, trying to discern his thoughts, with no success.

With a glance of her own at Thomas, Lucille stood and hurried around to my chair. I stared up at her, my eyes wide, my heart pounding in my ears. Lucille sank down onto her knees on the cold floor of the dining room and lifted my hand.

“It’s alright, pet. Thomas will ensure that your father does not discover your secrets, and that all your assets remain in your name only.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder at Thomas and returned her attention to me. Her hand reached up and caressed my cheek as I stared, stunned, at her.

My eyes filled with tears and a small wail spilled out from somewhere inside me. I threw my arms around her shoulders and burst into tears, burying my face in her sweet smelling hair.

“You really don’t want to clap me in the attic for the rest of my days?” I implored. Lucille paled, and Thomas intervened.

“Of course not, Edith! Come here.” He held his hand out and waited for me to take it. He drew me onto his knee.

“Darling, we are proud of you! How could we not be? If it’s one thing that Lucille and I have a keen appreciation for, it’s perseverance! You must keep on with your writing, of course. We will help you move your publishing here, and find a proper agent for you. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be our next Jane Austen!” I blanched.

"Oh no Thomas! I could never write as well as Miss Austin!” I shook my head violently, appalled at the idea. 

“I just write silly little ghost stories, they are nothing so grand! I only hope that some few people will enjoy them…”

Lucille spoke up.

“Edith pet, if this bank balance is any indicator, more than a few have enjoyed your ‘silly little ghost stories’!” she said gently.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Edith?”

I squirmed and blushed, heat flashing through my body, unable to formulate a reply.

“Thomas? Can’t you see your wife is embarrassed?” Lucille admonished.

“Embarrassed?” He looked puzzled. “Embarrassed that you are able to give your readers hours of interest and enjoyment?”

I looked up, confused. Not quite able to believe my ears. My eyes darted to Lucille’s. She nodded. I would not have thought that she, they would understand. And yet…

Thomas stood and lifted me out of my chair, embracing me. I darted a wary glance at Lucille to find her smiling her quiet smile.

“You…you’re not angry with me? I asked timidly.

“On the contrary, wife! I am inordinately proud of you! Though I am not terribly pleased that you kept it secret from me…” he leaned back and looked at me sternly. Then he grinned down at me warmly.

“When may we read your books?”

The following evening, Thomas gently persuaded me to allow him to read aloud from one of my books after dinner. I had kept a copy of each one, even those serialized in magazines, though they were hidden at the bottom of one of my large trunks, lying underneath books which were considered socially acceptable for a young woman such as myself.

I had been nervous all through dinner, barely able to do more than drink my wine. Of which I may have consumed rather more than I ought.

Thomas and Lucille chatted between themselves, since their efforts to include me were useless, as I was simply too nervous to hold any sort of conversation at the moment.

Finally dinner was over and Thomas smiled at me.

“Shall we adjourn to the Library, my dears?”

I gulped, but nodded, setting my serviette on the table as Thomas came around to hold my chair and escort us to the Library.

We settled in the Library. Thomas took the armchair by the fire, Lucille and I sat on the perpendicular sofa.

“You really shouldn’t read it in front of me,” I tried one final time. “I don’t want you to feel as though you must like it.”

“Nonsense, pet. I’m sure it will be perfectly entertaining.” Lucille dismissed my concerns as Thomas cracked my copy of ‘The Specter of Doubt’.

I buried my head in my hands, awaiting my doom. Thomas began to read aloud in a sonorous tone.

“Crammond Hall was an 18th century gothic home, but after years of neglect, it now gave the appearance of being not only terrifying at night, but terrifyingly alive. The gas lighting flickered in the gaps in the curtains and escaped from ill-fitting and diseased frames. The wind howled through holes that shouldn’t be there, making the house seem to speak, some said. The locals would not approach…”

I peered through the gaps in my fingers, my spirit rising as I heard no mocking laughter nor snorts of derision. Thomas continued reading, his voice rising to mimic the ladies voices.

“’It’s perfectly ghastly!” Lady Delamere declared as she stepped down from the carriage.

“It does look better in daylight,’ her companion assured her. 

“It looks like Notre-Dame de Paris had a bastard child with a workhouse!’ she scoffed in reply.”

Lucille barked with laughter at the image, just as I had hoped a reader would.

Thomas looked over and caught my eye, which I was still partially shielding behind my hands. He offered me a warm smile, a wink and nod of congratulation, then continued reading.

Sometimes I doubled over, so embarrassed was I by the section being read. But Thomas read so well, so expressively that he captured my meaning, his voice so well-modulated that he told the tale as well or better than I could have. Slowly I sat upright, gradually lowering my hands and even on occasion, I smiled along with their obvious enjoyment of my humor.

The grandfather clock chimed eleven and we all looked up, surprised.

“Heavens! Is it that late?” Lucille asked.

“I hardly noticed the time,” Thomas added.

Even I, for whom each second had felt excruciating, hadn’t noticed quite how much time had passed.

“We should retire,” Thomas said, setting a book mark between the pages then getting to his feet. “Next chapter tomorrow!”

He approached me and taking my hands, pulled me to my feet.

“Thank you for a diverting evening, darling,” he smiled down at me. “That was truly entertaining.”

“Yes,” Lucille smiled. “I cannot wait until tomorrow, I shall spend all night desperate to discover what is behind the ghost’s cryptic messages!”

Somehow it became our routine to congregate every evening for our dinner and then to retire to the Library, where Thomas would read to us from one of my books.

I would have thought my little stories were too frivolous for Thomas, yet he threw himself into my tales with verve and gusto, his delight in the story apparent in every modulation of his voice, every gesture and facial expression. 

Listening to Thomas read made my story come alive in a way that I, even as it’s authoress, had not truly appreciated until I heard him recite it. 

Lucille…Lucille was by all appearance, captivated, hanging on his every word, clutching her throat, gasping and shivering in all the right places.

Thomas didn’t just do my story justice, his reading and interpretation made it entrancing.

This particular night I was quiet and miserably withdrawn at dinner. Lucille spooned soup into her mouth, her eyes trained on me. I know I am pale, the cramp low in my belly visible on my face as it gave a vicious twinge and I winced.

"And how is your health, Edith?” she questioned me calmly, quietly. She has asked about my ‘health’ unerringly every month just as my courses commenced. Yet this night she is mistaken. My courses were two weeks past and not yet due. The blood rushed to my face and tears welled in my eyes, my spoon trembling into my soup with a small splash.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered, feeling my failure to conceive Thomas’s longed for son.

“Edith, are you well? Is aught amiss?” Thomas’s hand closed over mine as his eyes darted between me and Lucille. I shook my head, staring at my plate miserably.  
“I am quite well Thomas, thank you.” I said quietly, tugging my hand away into my lap.

My hand pressed down against my belly as I tried not to squirm and fidget. I felt such heaviness behind my navel, low in the cradle of my hips, an odd churning that I did not understand. I wanted to curl around it, hide away. But a concurrent restlessness, a feeling of energy ready to burst forth from my body, kept me on edge.

Lucille eyed me, setting down her fork and wiping her lips with her serviette thoughtfully before setting it beside her plate. She stood, pushing back her chair, catching Thomas by surprise as he hastily scrambled to stand.

“Lucille?” he questioned.

She swiftly came around the table to my side, pulling me from my chair and wrapping a solicitous arm around my shoulders.

“Come with me, Edith.“ She nodded in the direction of my bedchamber and began to lead me there. She turned her head toward my Husband.

"Bring the wine, Thomas.” she commanded quietly. “Come along, pet. We must get you comfortable…”

She led me to my chamber and began to undo the buttons at the back of my neck. The release of my body from my constricting clothing was a relief. Already I felt I could breathe easier.

“Lucille…what is wrong? Why, why do I feel so odd?“ I whispered urgently. She smiled gently at me.

"There’s nothing at all wrong with you, pet. You are merely ripening…”

I glanced up in confusion, seeing Thomas stride into the room, wine bottle and glasses in hand, the look of concern and confusion on his face clearing to relief and understanding as he came to an abrupt halt at her words. Lucille’s clever fingers finished the last of my buttons and pushed my dress off my shoulders before starting on my corset ties. Oh, it felt so good to be free of its restriction, to breathe at last!

“Drink, Edith.” Thomas was suddenly in front of me, pushing a wineglass into my hand. I don’t want it, I tried to push the glass away. I want… I don’t know what I want…

Thomas stepped closer and wrapped his hand in the hair at the back of my head and tilted the glass to my lips.

“Drink it, wife.” he ordered insistently, brooking no resistance.

My lips parted obediently to sip, but Thomas poured a large swallow into my mouth and suddenly I found I needed more, my hand coming up to the glass and tilting it greedily, swallowing the whole measure.

“That’s my girl…” Thomas murmured, taking the empty glass from my hand. He bent his head and tasted the wine on my lips, kissing me deeply while my head spun dizzily, his hand in the back of my hair holding my head steady as he took my lips.

Need coiled up from my belly and I found myself pushing my body up against his with a quiver. Hands continued to unlace my corset and tug at my clothing as Thomas kissed down my neck, pushing my dress away from my overheated skin. He bit at the curve of my shoulder and I cried out, desperate for more, shameless and pleading.

He sucked at the skin there, pulling me into his mouth as I shivered, not knowing if I was trying to push away from the small pain or get closer to it. He lifted his head and looked down into my face, his eyes dark and lustful as he watched me.

Then he looked over my shoulder, his expression changing, softening, almost innocent and pleading. I looked over my shoulder, surprised to have forgotten Lucille’s presence. She and Thomas shared a silent communication.

I saw a flash of yearning on her face before she turned her head away with a small shake, a tear spilling over her cheek as she stood and stepped away.  
When I realized she meant to leave us I cried out impulsively. 

“Lucille!” I blurted, “don’t go!” I could not bear for her to leave us with that look in her eyes. I read the deep grief in those luminous blue depths. I wasn’t thinking through what staying would mean, only that I wanted, needed her to be part of it.

I had been shocked to discover her unwed motherhood. By the time I understood who had fathered Poppet, it seemed perfectly natural. Of course Thomas loved his sister. Having become intimately familiar, shall we say, with Thomas’s appetites, it didn’t really surprise me to realize that their bond included physical comfort.  
I could have kept my silence. I, we would have no doubt ended up with a very different life. But I simply could not watch Lucille, my friend, my sister, walk away from me, from Thomas… alone.

I sensed that it was a turning point in my life, in all our lives when I looked into those eyes. I knew that if Lucille left we would all manage to live unexceptional ordinary lives. I knew that if she stayed it would invite all sorts of complications into our lives, but I also knew without doubt that our lives would become immeasurably wonderful and truly extraordinary.

I felt Thomas’s hands tighten on me and saw his head jerk toward me in astonishment, looking from me to Lucille and back. I looked up pleadingly at him unable to articulate my desire, my… need… for Lucille to be here with us.

Thomas searched my face and looked up at Lucille, the same searching look. 

“You heard her, Lucille. Will you stay?”

His eyes darkest blue, he spun me around in his arms, facing toward Lucille. One arm banded around my waist, pulling me against his body while he lowered his head and kissed my neck, nuzzling and nibbling, burying his lips in my neck, his eyes raised to hers over my shoulder. His other hand reached for the drawstring at the neck of my chemise, pulling the tie slowly, teasingly open, then his hand slid into the gap, palming my bosom.

His grip on my breast made me push against his hand. I watched Lucille’s face change as she watched Thomas touch me, her gaze sliding hungrily to Thomas’s hand. Her eyes fluttered shut and a flush crept up her cheeks. As she hesitated, her eyes going from me to Thomas and back, I held out my hand, daring to hope she would take it. A moment later Thomas’s hand extended alongside mine.

“Sister…” I reached quietly for her, and Thomas echoed me.

She took my hand and pulled me a step away from Thomas, her hands rising up to cup my face and kiss my lips gently. She lifted her head to look into my eyes. There were tears in her own.

“Thank you, Sister…” She whispered, kissing me again. Her lips are so soft…

I understand now that I had unwittingly taken her lover from her.

I felt guilty and terribly saddened for coming between the two of them, even though I had not understood their relationship at the beginning.

Thomas’s hand came around me and reached for her cheek, caressing it gently. She closed her eyes and nestled into his palm, plainly taking comfort there.  
With the horrors inflicted on the pair of them in their childhood, is it any wonder that they would cling together and comfort each other? Who else was there for them? Society may say their relationship is unclean, perverted, for the physical comfort they have given one another, but then, any society that believes that it is a parent’s right to treat their children so cruelly must be the more perverted…

While they were both still fully dressed, I stood naked and trembling, pressed between the two. I looked up at them, so tall and slim and so beautiful. They both looked down at me and I was reminded of a pair of sleek, black jaguars I had once seen at the zoo in New York City. I shivered at their combined concentrated attention, held immobile by their intent regard.

Thomas’s hand moved up the front of my throat, lifting my chin and offering me to Lucille. Her hand joined his on my jaw, and together they lifted my face higher. Lucille kissed me. I could feel her lips trembling against mine, and that set my last fear to rest, the warm pressure of her lips reminding me of the warm pressure inside me.

Thomas’s hot mouth was on my bare shoulder, moving tantalizingly over my neck as her fingertips slid down to my bosom, tracing around one peak. My eyes squeezed shut and my hand crept out to clench in the fabric of her skirt, as she began to speak in a low intimate voice into my ear.

“Will you have our baby, sweet Edith? A child for all of us… One who will never lack for love and care?”

I whimpered and nodded, nearly delirious with the idea. I want… I do want a child… for all of us.

“You are so ripe, so lovely… so ready for Thomas to plant our baby in your womb…”

“Yes,“ I gasped, "Please… give me a baby…”

I heard Thomas groan over my shoulder, his hips pushing against me from behind. They shared a kiss, as I watched from between them, I could almost feel the sweetness of their kiss on my own lips. I felt neither jealousy nor impatience, content to watch their lips dance together as they had danced at the McMichael’s ball, so graceful and beautiful together.

Then Thomas stepped back and lifted me into his arms to lay me out on the bed. He brought Lucille to stand next to the bed facing me and began to unfasten her dress buttons. I watched enthralled as he kissed each bit of skin he bared, her head falling back on her neck as she lost herself in his touch, the only kind touch she had ever known.

He pushed her dress down off her arms and unlaced her corset, removing both. Her limbs were so milk white and smooth… He unlaced and pushed her chemise down as well. I gasped to see her bare for the first time, horrified to find small white scars scattered over her body.

I knelt up on the bed and reached for her, desperate to kiss away the anguish of her scars, my hands gently running over her torso, lips seeking the small knotted scars over her chest and breast.

My mouth settled over her peak, the most natural thing in the world, and I suckled. Lucille cried out and cradled my head to her breast, her fingers tangling in my hair.

A warm naked presence joined me, and Thomas was at her other breast, one hand stroking her hip, one hand stroking mine. His touch sparked the embers lying in my middle and I lifted my head to watch him suckle at her.

Thomas pulled her down onto the bed with us and we became a roiling mass of seeking lips and stroking fingers, our bodies undulating and pressing together until I had no idea where my body ended and another began.

Thomas nudged my lips with his cock and I opened to taste him, hearing his hiss and groan as he glided over my tongue.

Fingers opened me below, dipping gently into my moisture, circling lightly and then more firmly over that tiny bundle of nerves. I cried out and Thomas slipped further into my mouth as I sucked greedily at him.

I felt him begin to tense and tighten, and he pulled away. I felt almost cheated again. He had never yet allowed himself to come to his culmination in my mouth…  
Thomas rolled me over on top of Lucille, breast to breast with her and I kissed her willing mouth, my hand traveling down her body to her core. I repeat what her own slender fingers had wrought on me, her knees coming up and cradling me between her hips, pelvis tilting to accept my fingers. Her fingers slid into my mouth, my own flavor bursting across my tongue.

Thomas is on his knees between our legs, his hands running over the flesh of my bottom, watching and murmuring.

“How beautiful you are together, my darlings. I am the most fortunate of men…”

I felt Thomas nudging my opening and suddenly he was plunging within me, his hands grasping my hips and pulling me roughly back to meet his thrusts.  
He pressed a large hand between my shoulder blades, pushing my face into the space between Lucille’s breasts, then pushed me flat within the cradle of her hips as he continued to pound into me. He was driving into me, driving me onto Lucille, her hips thrusting up as he bore down.

Lucille cried out her bliss first, throwing her head back and going rigid, I could feel her pulsing and throbbing against me and I could not help but come undone in turn.

Thomas came with a shout, driving his seed into me in short stuttering bursts, his liquid heat spreading and soothing me inside.

I was prostrate over Lucille’s limp body, sated and exhausted, and I could not do more than whimper when Thomas withdrew from me, dropping down beside us, still panting.

Thomas pulled me off of Lucille, just as I noticed that she is panting for breath as hard as Thomas. He rolled me and tucked me against his side, gathering Lucille against his other side.

When I opened my eyes I found her head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, just as mine was on his opposite, her hand lying gently on his chest, just as mine was, looking back at me with a tired smile, just as I was smiling at her. Her hand reached for mine and our fingers twined together over his chest.

After a long moment, Thomas lifted his head and gently kissed each of us on the forehead.

"Thank you, my loves…”

Thomas, insatiable Thomas, woke us twice in the night, with tender caresses and frenzied need. I had my first taste of another woman, Lucille’s flavor reminding me of musk and bergamot, filling my senses as my tongue explored her delicate folds.

I woke just as the dawn peeked through the drapes that our activities had caused me to forget to close. The small slanting sunbeam illuminated slices of skin over the three of us. The sun brightened the raspberry color of Lucille’s nipples, the dark glints in the small patch of hair in the center of Thomas’s chest, my own skin pale and rosy in the dawn light.

I propped my head onto my hand, elbow bent, studying my…loves. Unobserved for the moment. For, I realize now, they are indeed my Loves. Plural. How astonishing and beautiful it is to wake with the both of them in my bed!

I glanced up at the headboard of my bridal bed, seeking out the macabre skull carved thereon. I had a childish urge to stick out my tongue at the grinning thing, so I did. That! I mentally snapped my fingers at it, for your oppressions and intimidations, you nasty old thing! I could almost feel fond of it, with the sensations of the night imprinted on my body, and in my soul.

They are so sweet together, slumbering on in the morning light, and I let my eyes drink their fill of the wondrous sight of the two of them in my bed.  
Thomas lies on his back, Lucille’s body turned trustingly to his, her arm and head nestled into his chest, his arm around her and his head turned to the side as if watching over her while she sleeps.

I am aware that all society would utterly reject this love, but I can not bring myself to care. Society can not possibly understand the grace of the love I have for each of them. Never have I felt so cherished, worshiped even. Never have I cherished and worshiped so in return. I am amazed, stupefied at my good fortune. To have not one, but two loves, are riches beyond imagining!

Lucille’s face in repose captivates me, her pale visage luminous in the morning light. Her lips are swollen and raspberry red from kissing, her cheeks and chin pinkened from the chafing of Thomas’s overnight beard. There are multiple small strawberry marks over her neck and chest, no way to sort the ones Thomas kissed into her delicate skin from mine. Though I am fairly certain that the circular imprint of teeth on her shoulder did not come from me.

My gaze wandered down her torso, studying her body, my eyes drawn to the dozen or more small white, knotted scars over her body. I had felt them under my fingertips on her back, as well as under my lips and tongue. I would happily spend my life making her forget them.

Lucille’s touch on my body had been electrifying, a revelation… She seemed to know exactly how and where to touch me to greatest effect. Thomas’s firmer and sometimes rougher touch and grasp was unbearably exciting to me. But Lucille’s touch was unbearably gentle and tender… Electrifying in a different way.

I sighed quietly. I really must get up to relieve myself…I stirred, attempting to slither carefully away from my sleeping loves, but Thomas’s eyes fluttered open, sleepily searching before lighting on me. A small smile tugged his lips as he blinked at me.

“Good morning, my love…” he buried his nose in my hair and breathed deep.

“Good morning, Husband.” I smiled back at him, then gestured at the chamber door. “I really must…”

“Of course, darling.” He nuzzled my ear and released me, watching as I slipped out of the bed, into my dressing gown, and made my way to the door.

When I had taken care of myself I returned quietly to the room to find Thomas sound asleep once again, curled around Lucille, his chin in her hair, lashes fanned peacefully over his cheeks.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More triggers today, sorry. Discussion of past abuse.

Lucille urged Thomas to plant deeply and often in me. We acquiesced happily to her drive to see me with child. Our child, the three of us. For any child that I conceive will assuredly have Lucille as a mother, as well as myself.

We all figuratively held our breath as the days passed, waiting, dreading, for my part, the appearance of my monthly courses. Lucille and I often repaired after luncheon to my bedchamber while Thomas worked on his schematics and inventions.

During these siestas Lucille began to talk more easily to me, and I discovered in her a keen intellect and a breadth of interest about a wide range of topics that I had not suspected. Her mother had seen to it that she was educated to the limit of what she considered appropriate for a young lady of quality. But Thomas had discovered and indulged Lucille’s hunger for knowledge, giving her his schoolbooks, and bringing home newspapers.

She could converse knowledgeably about engineering, local fauna and flora, politics, history, and so much more. I was astounded to discover that she was something of a self taught doctor and herbalist.

She often spoke to me of pregnancy, patiently enduring my ignorant questioning. At times I could see her sadness at her reminiscences of her own pregnancy, but mostly the prospect of another child seemed to fill her with joy and hope.

Thomas is always careful never to spill his seed in her, concentrating on planting deep in me. The look on her face the first time Thomas abruptly withdrew from her to thrust into me… I tried delicately to inquire of her whether it troubled her.

She paused, her head cushioned on my flat belly as we lay, fully clothed, though unlaced and unbuttoned, across her bed. She answered me thoughtfully.

“No…yes… I don’t truthfully know… I suppose I miss the act, the completion, but I have no desire to risk another child.” she said slowly.

I stroked her hair idly, my brow furrowed.

“But does it make you feel envious?” I asked a little anxiously.

She smiled serenely at me.

“How could I be jealous of my own sister?”

“I think many women would be…” I mused.

“Many women are silly, vain creatures who base their entire worth on the ability to attract a man and keep him dancing in attendance on them!” she said acerbically.

Lucille turned over onto her belly, and moved up next to me, leaning up on her elbows.

“At first… I was jealous of you. I suppose when we determined that the best way to find investment in Thomas’s work was to seek for a wife - it is after all, the English way to sell oneself for family fortune- I thought Eunice was perfect to fill the bill. Thomas didn’t much like her, you see, and I would have no reason to be jealous. He would do his duty, marry her, and produce an heir, use her family’s money to invest in his inventions. Nothing need have changed for me… It was very selfish of me, really.”

“But the moment Thomas set eyes on you, all that went right out the window! Such a row we had! I was appalled that he was willing to throw over all the work we had done to attract and secure Eunice– though I must say, her mother…” Lucille shuddered, “Rapacious woman with a tongue like one of your western rattlesnakes!”

I laughed. “Yes indeed, that just about describes Mrs. McMichael! If looks could kill, we’d have been cut to shreds the moment Thomas walked into that Ballroom with me on his arm! It really was very bad of him!” I laughed. “She has always been such a cat to me. I shall treasure the look of shock and fury on her face all my days! But I was sorry to hurt Eunice, though…”

“Darling, softhearted girl…“ she tucked a stray strand of hair tenderly behind my ear. "You saved Eunice that night, though neither you nor she knew it. I never had any intention of befriending her, and Thomas called her silly and vapid… She would have been miserable here. We all would have been miserable, till death do us part!”

“But you, darling girl, you saved us with your kindness and generosity of spirit. With your determination to love us, unlovable as we are…”

I captured her face in both hands.

“Don’t say that! Of course you are not unlovable!” I kissed her smooth cheek, and then, impishly – the tip of her nose.

She blinked at me, then ducked her head as she blushed.

“You’re the only one who has ever said so…”

I sat up, instantly ready to defend her, even from herself.

“Lucille, just because you were unloved as children, doesn’t mean you were unlovable. It only means that your parents were unloving people!” I pulled her up and wrapped her in a fierce embrace. She held up her hand to stop my babbling.

“Darling, you don’t know…” Lucille shook her head sadly. “I don’t …” She drew a deep fortifying breath and seemed to steel herself, for what rejection I couldn’t imagine, before she continued, her head down and hands twisting in each other.

“You see…Mother deliberately dressed me in her raciest, most revealing gowns to…to make me appealing to Father. She hated Father, hated to be touched by him. I couldn’t blame her for that. I came to know what he would want when he came reeling home in the early hours. It’s small wonder that Mother wanted no part of that! …So she put me forward in her place, a little girl dressed in a woman’s clothing…

I caught my breath, unable to breathe in my horror.

"At first it was horribly painful,” Lucille went on in her calm, distant voice, “but eventually, I came to accept my place…at least Father was kind to me, after. When he didn’t collapse in a snoring stupor on top of me.” She stared away into her memories for a long moment, grief twisting her face.

"It was the only kindness I ever had after Thomas was sent away to school. Mother came to hate me. Even more I believe, than she hated father. She was jealous of me in some strange way, I think. As if she believed that I was deliberately luring her husband away from her. She would come into the nursery and scream at me, calling me harlot and whore whenever Father was out, and she had been into the sherry. Until I made the mistake of defending myself, of retaliating. I taunted her, told her that at least Father liked me.” Lucille shuddered. “She, she took a horse whip to me then.” Lucille’s fingers traced the ragged, white scar on the top of her right breast.

“When Father saw what Mother had done, he…he beat her horribly. I can still remember that night, his shouting, her screams.” She stared into the distance. “He saw the wounds on my body and he went berserk… He went and dragged Mother into my room by her hair as I cowered on the bed, too afraid to move…”

That she can speak of these things so calmly… Tears poured down my face. I couldn’t bear it! That this precious girl had suffered and endured such horror and cruelty… I threw myself into her arms and sobbed into her neck, my heart breaking. She wrapped consoling arms around me, petting me and whispering into my hair.

“Shh Edith, darling girl. Don’t take on so… It was all so long ago…” she soothed. It took me several more minutes to gather my self control. It was not lost on me that I was being comforted by the victim of this utter atrocity, and that, at least, helped me to pull myself together.

Edith wiped my face tenderly with the pretty kerchief she always had tucked into her sleeve.

“There my love, don’t cry. Your face will be all blotchy and Thomas will wonder why.” She smoothed and patted my hair back into place. I looked wonderingly at this woman, astounded by her strength. I simply could not imagine a worse circumstance for a child to endure.

“Does…does Thomas know?“ I asked her tentatively. Lucille laid me gently down on the bed, her hands stroking my hair and soothing me as she sat on the bed at my side.

"No. And we’re not going to tell him.” She said firmly. “Thomas has had enough to deal with, he doesn’t need to know… He always takes too much responsibility on himself. He thinks that everything that happened in our childhood was his fault, that he should have prevented it all, somehow, even though he was the younger.”   
She shook her head sadly.

"He was a child, there was nothing he could have done to protect us, to protect me. No, Thomas doesn’t need to know.”

Lucille lay down beside me, pulling me close and settling my head on her shoulder. She stared at the bed canopy. “But, I’m glad I’ve told you, sister…” She turned her head and laid a kiss in my hair.

“Oh my darling, I love you so! I love you both! I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but I thank my lucky stars every day for the blessing of being yours. You saved me too, you know. Father would have sold me off for some advantageous business alliance or other, regardless. I’d have ended in a loveless marriage, married off to some old man…never met you, loved you…” I broke off and shuddered at the thought.

“Hush now, my love. Don’t think on what might have been! You’re here now, with us, and you make us so happy. You complete us, fill a space that we never even suspected was there. Now, sleep darling.” She crooked a small smile mischievously. “I know you need more rest than Thomas gave you last night, and more than he is likely to allow you tonight!”

A yawn overtook me right on cue, and she chuckled as I sniffled a watery, rueful laugh. Lucille was correct, I’d better get what sleep I may, while I can. I rolled onto my side and Lucille curled around me like a cat. I was the cat, and she petted and stroked my hair in a soothing rhythm. I was soon asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Allerdale is a positive beehive of activity now that spring has begun to warm into summer. The workmen are here all hours of the day, banging away with their hammers and saws. 

A new roof was necessary and that has entailed young men climbing precariously all over the angled and pitched roof. Viewed from a distance the old Hall resembles some ornate picnic basket with ants crawling all over it, and is quite good entertainment.

Thomas has engaged a butler. Mr. Jenkins is short and balding, with a face like a bulldog and a silent and, I fancy, a rather disapproving air. I didn’t see the need for a butler just yet, but Thomas was most insistent that we have a man about the household when he must be away on his various business trips. Jenkins always seems to be present, watching and listening and… judging. I don’t care for him at all, but I daresay that I will grow more accustomed to him as time passes.

Mrs. Hastings has begun to fill out her staff, hiring a Cook’s assistant and two of the village girls to train as parlor maids. Katie and Mary used to come and do for the house on an ad hoc basis until we hired Mrs. Hastings. Mrs. Hastings has decided to take the girls under her wing and train them up properly. Young Katie has a habit of singing as she works to polish the silver or clean ashes from the grate. I found Mrs. Hastings scolding her one morning for it.

I had just the smallest contretemps with Mrs. Hastings over that. I like Katie’s singing, she has a sweet voice and I see no need to stifle her. Mrs. Hastings is of the opinion that household staff should be as unobtrusive as possible, making no noise and leaving the room quickly whenever family appears.

Mary has learned that lesson, and scampers away as quiet as a mouse whenever I enter a room. Often the only bit I see of her in the day is the hem of her skirt whisking around the corner, out the door. Katie has a more forward personality, and I quite enjoy listening to her singing over her work, as well as the odd little encounter with her. I’ve discovered that she will happily chatter about the doings in the village, along with some quite amusing opinions about its inhabitants, if asked.

I’ve spoken with Mrs. Hastings about the bright little thing and her prospects. We have agreed that I will teach Katie and Mary to read. Mrs. Hastings has arranged for them each to have an hour free before luncheon for their lessons.

I really must speak to Thomas about a village school… Oh, there so much to do! With the advent of the railroad spur and Thomas building his manufactory there will be such changes. Jobs for Villagers who had no work before now. More workers and families flowing in, building homes, starting businesses of their own. Grown children not having to move away from their families for lack of available work. A school. Possibly even a school for the village girls!

I adore the energy and busy-ness of Allerdale Hall now, so different from the gloom of the past winter. Now, if only…

 

Thomas strode into Allerdale’s entryway to be greeted by a surprised Jenkins.

“Sir Thomas! We did not expect you today, sir!” He accepted the hat that Thomas swept off and handed him. Jenkins attempted to take the handsome leather case in Thomas’s hand.

“No, I’ll keep that Jenkins.” Thomas tugged it back.

Jenkins sounded slightly disapproving to Thomas’s ear, but they were all still getting to know each other. Jenkins had only been with us three weeks, and Thomas had been away for the last week in Edinburgh.

“Is there a problem Jenkins?”

“No, of course not sir.” Jenkins stiffened, and paused a beat. “If one would be permitted? Sending ahead to notify the household of your arrival would be… appropriate, sir.”

I peeked around the edge of the parlor door at the two, unwilling to interrupt, and wondering what Thomas’s response would be to the barely hidden censure in Jenkin’s unctuous tone.

I felt Lucille’s hand on my shoulder, knew she was observing the scene with the same intensity as I when her fingers tightened. I glanced up at her to see what passed for a scowl on her calm face, in the event only a small tightening of her lips. I am coming to know her well, to see the small cues on her face. Try as she might, Lucille has never learned to school the flash of her eyes, and it is there that her emotions are displayed for those who care to look carefully.

Thomas looked up and caught sight of us, his brilliant smile flashing.

“Darlings!“ Thomas called and strode to us, one arm going around my waist while he dropped a small kiss on Lucille’s cheek in greeting. Then he turned to me and his lips descended on mine in a jolly heartfelt smacking buss.

"I have the most marvelous thing to show you darlings!” 

I heard a noise behind him, and peeked over his shoulder at Jenkins, who was turning away with a disapproving sniff. I shrank back from Thomas putting my hand on his chest to push him away to a more decorous distance.

“Thomas!” I whispered, mortified. His eyes narrowed at me and he glanced over his shoulder ay Jenkins’ retreating figure. When he turned back to me his eyes glinted in defiant mischief. Abruptly he bent and swept me off my feet and into his arms. I shrieked and laughed in surprise, clutching around his neck. Thomas’s laughter rang out with mine, and echoed off the tall glass dome above the entryway.

With a narrow eyed look at Jenkins retreating back, Lucille turned and led the way into the parlor. Thomas stepped through the doorway with me in his arms, his lips descended on mine again as he pushed the door sharply shut with one foot.

Oh, to have my husband’s lips on mine! I melted into his arms. Thomas cradled me and his lips left me in no doubt that he had missed me and was glad to be home once again. When he lifted his head from the kiss that had drugged me senseless, he let me slide gently down his body to set my feet on the floor. He grinned in mischief, his voice low.

“Apparently Jenkins is offended that a man, newly home from his travels, should kiss his own wife in his own entryway! He’ll soon learn better! I wonder what he’d say-“ Lucille’s fingers leapt to his lips.

“Hush, Thomas!” she scolded quietly, but my Husband was irrepressible .

One arm firmly around me, he laughingly pulled Lucille to his other side, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her deeply, as well. I stood with my cheek laid on his chest, watching the two greet each other lovingly.

This, this is everything to me. To be granted entrée to this family, to be part of and inside, between them and side-by-side is the most… gracious blessing. I never felt so cherished or so welcome, even in my own family back in Buffalo. When Thomas lifted his lips from hers and her eyes had opened, she laid her hand on my cheek and kissed me also, before stepping back.

“Now, what’s so precious in this box that you won’t allow anyone else to handle it, Thomas?” she asked with a quiet curious lift of her elegant eyebrow. Thomas’s face lit with boyish enthusiasm.

“Oh Lucille, the most marvelous thing!” He stooped to pick up the case and quickly carried it to the table surface. His long fingers searched for the catches as he explained.

“I happened past the shop where I had got the spyglass all those years ago, and found, to my delight, that some Italian fellow had invented binocular glasses!” Lucille gasped.

“Really? How wonderful!” She watched avidly as he opened the box to reveal two short tubes connected at their center, nestled in their velvet lined box.

I looked on in confusion at the contraption, absorbing both siblings enthusiasm. Lucille’s in particular. I mulled Thomas’s explanation. Spyglass. Binocular spyglasses. Ah. Now I understood what I was looking at, but I was not just sure why the two were so tickled over it. Thomas nudged the case closer to Lucille with a grin.

“Go on.” He urged her to pick up the instrument. She looked up into his face, briefly uncertain of his encouragement, before her trembling fingers reached out to touch it.

A shadow crossed Thomas’s face as her eyes eagerly fell to the binoculars, carefully pulling it from its padding and handling it delicately, her fingertips lightly trailing over its surface, tipping it up to inspect the lenses.

His eyes flickered to mine as if he were guilty of some part in her hesitation over accepting a gift. I stepped up and wrapped my arm around her waist, leaning into inspect the thing.

“It’s lovely, but whatever do you need it for? You’re hardly Ship’s Captains, or Army Generals!”

“Birdwatching!” They both said at once. Lucille’s face pink with anticipation and excitement. Thomas’s lips relaxed into a relieved smile, happy that his gift had been well received. Lucille smiled.

“When we were children at the top of the house, looking out at the moor through the window, the birds often were the only thing that moved in the entire landscape. We made a competition of spotting and counting birds! She smiled fondly at Thomas as he smiled back into her eyes.

”Thomas always cheated!” she said with mock indignation.

“I won’t deny it! I was an awful, competitive rapscallion!” Thomas laughed. Lucille shook her head, a small smile on her lips. I delighted in their unguarded reminiscence of one of the few happy things in their shared childhood.

Lucille regretfully put the binoculars back into their protective padding.

“It’s too late tonight to try them out. But if tomorrow is fine…”

“Nonsense, sister!” Thomas snatched them up and put them to his eyes, twisting and adjusting them as he looked around the room. He pulled them from his eyes with a grin, pointing into a corner of the ceiling.

“Look there!” He handed me the binoculars and pointed, urging me to look through, his hand on my back. I lifted the glasses.

“Oh! A spider!” I pushed the glasses back at him.

“Oh, let me see!” Lucille enthused, reaching for the binoculars.

“Oh. My.” she enthused, “What a cunning creature…look at the intricacy of it’s web…” she stood enthralled, the binoculars pressed to her eyes.

“Do remind me to have Mrs. Hastings get Mary up on the ladder to dust the crown moldings, Edith…”

Thomas and I shared a look of satisfaction at Lucille’s obvious delight, and shrug at her practicality. My arm tightened around her waist and Thomas’s hand lifted to stroke her hair as she continued to observe and comment the spider and it’s web.

A firm tap came on the door.

“Enter!” Thomas called, stepping back from us. Mrs. Hastings opened the door.

“Welcome home, Sir Thomas. Your supper is served, if you please sir.” she said with her air of quiet competence. Thomas stood.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hastings. Ladies, shall we?” He offered an elbow to each of us. Lucille carefully put the binoculars away and we all went happily to our meal.  
Thomas asked about our week and Lucille spoke enthusiastically of the progress the workmen had made of the new roof, and the architect’s drawings for replacing the staircase in the north wing and the new parquet floor in the ballroom.

Oh! And we are to have proper water closets installed with flushing toilets! I’m so pleased! No more chamber pots! It had been such a shock indeed to come to Allerdale and find that it relied on that archaic sewage system. Though one could hardly call collecting and flinging the contents of chamber pots onto a night soil heap a proper system at all. So unsanitary, and the smells! It doesn’t bear thinking on.

Thomas is, of course, intensely interested in the engineering of the plumbing renovations, peppering me with questions. Lucille patted her lips with her serviette.  
“Thomas really! Must we speak of these things at table?” Lucille chided. 

“How was your trip to the city? Did your business go well? I asked Thomas.

Thomas is nearing the end of negotiations with the railway investors to trade the patent for his new braking system, for a spur of train track to our little village. We are to have our own depot! Having ready transportation is a must, if Thomas is to build his manufactory for his mining equipment here.

"Yes darlings! The test train’s braking system has operated flawlessly. There have been no accidents or overheating brakes at all! The Investors were most impressed.” He sipped from his wineglass and smiled in happy anticipation.

“We should be able to break ground on the spur by August. How swiftly it is built will depend on accumulating sufficient railroad builders. And the weather of course. Mr. Buxton, the engineer, assures me that with the liberal work contracts we are offering, we should be able to attract sufficient experienced track layers to complete the project as soon as may be.” Lucille and I cheered, and Thomas looked gratified. At last his plans are beginning to bear fruit.

And speaking of fruit… my hand crept to my belly. My monthly courses had not yet made an appearance, and I had been so hopeful that finally I might be with child. But earlier today my bosom began to feel sore, aching and heavy, a familiar sign that my courses were nigh, and I knew I had again failed to conceive.  
The sadness I felt was overwhelming, and it came with a lethargy that literally weighed me down, until I felt pulled down into my seat.

I did not say anything to Lucille or Thomas because I could not find the words to disappoint them once again.

I drowsily listened to their voices exchanging the news of our week apart as I finished my meal. Despite my listlessness, I was famished this evening, and Cook’s veal cutlets and haricort verts were particularly delicious. I had a great appetite for the lovely, crusty, warm bread in the basket on the table. I reached for another slice to sop up Cook’s lovely sauce and caught Lucille watching me from the corner of her eye. I decided that I was being ridiculously gluttonous, and withdrew my hand.

Lucille’s hand leapt to the bread basket, plucked a slice of bread and slipped it onto my plate without turning her head or missing a word in her conversation with Thomas. I felt my lips twitch in gratitude and amusement. Lately, Lucille has taken a liking to feeding me. And I rather enjoy it. I happily took up the bread and polished off Cook’s lovely sauce.

Setting my knife and fork on my surprisingly clean, empty plate, I wiped my lips and picked up my wine glass for a sip. I nearly spat it out, barely swallowing it down. Ugh, it must have been corked. I looked into the glass, sniffing suspiciously. Setting my wine down, I reached for my water glass. Much better.

“You’re quiet this evening,” Thomas said to me. I looked up to see his calm regard.

“I’m just feeling a bit weary,” I said finding a smile for him.

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t question me further. Wiping his mouth, he smiled at me fondly, reaching out to place his hand over mine where it lay on the tablecloth.

After dinner Thomas drew out our chairs and escorted us to the drawing room. As Thomas read to us from one of the newspapers he had brought home from Edinburgh, I felt my eyes and body growing heavier. I was more than ready when it was suggested we retire for the night. Thomas wrapped an arm around each of our waists as he escorted us to our bedroom.

Lucille and I helped each other complete our evening ablutions, unlacing corsets, donning nightgowns, brushing hair out and braiding it. She has the most glorious silky tresses, the sweetest little wisps curling against her forehead… after finishing her hair, I went tiredly to attend myself. When I returned, I entered the bedroom to see Thomas and Lucille in each other’s arms, sharing an intimate kiss. They looked up as I closed the door behind me and Thomas held his hand out towards me, beckoning me closer.

I stepped towards them automatically, but paused just out of reach, my earlier discomfort returning. My bosom ached and I felt unaccountably heavy in my middle.

“Are you all right?” Lucille asked, concern evident. She always knew when my courses began somehow, and I had little doubt that she was also aware that I was late.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I… just have a slight headache, that’s all.” I couldn’t find the words to tell her that I was probably hours away from beginning to bleed. I moved to the chaise longue and curled up there.

Their two dark heads turned to me. I nodded serenely, assuring them that they need have no care for my feelings this night.

Lucille’s eyes were dark, trained on him as she awaited his decision. Thomas laid his hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly as he bent and touched his lips to hers.

"Lucille.” he whispered, yearning in his voice. He rubbed his cheek against hers and she sighed in relief, I think.

“Thomas, brother…”

Thomas cast one final look my way then he closed his eyes and kissed Lucille. My attention sharpened as her eyes swept shut, her lashes dark against her cheekbone, her pulse fluttering under the thin skin of her throat, and colour begin to bloom in her cheeks.

His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers working into her hair. I could see that he was pulling at her hair. She always loves when I pulled her hair… Thomas moved to kiss her again and I saw his tongue tip comes out to trace her lips. She mewled and I heard the desire in her voice.

Lucille closed her eyes and raised her lips for a kiss, the elegant column of her neck caught my eye.

She was so beautiful.

They both were, really, with their flawless porcelain complexions and their contrasting dark hair.

Thomas began to kiss Lucille’s neck and she gasped his name. Something about the scene before me made my body clench with need, despite my fatigue and distraction.

“Thomas…” she repeated as he gathered her nightgown up in one hand and ran the other over the exposed flesh of her thigh and derrière.

I could hear the longing in her voice, the longing in her voice that was only for him. I knew that even though she and I had shared him, she has missed having him to herself. I could hardly blame her…perhaps I should encourage Thomas to spend more time with her, I thought.

Thomas ran his hands up the underside of her arms, raising them and pulling her nightgown up and off. It was my turn to gasp softly, the firelight reflecting off her perfect skin made it appear luminous, and she looked more beautiful than I could ever remember.

I breathed deeply and as unobtrusively as I could; I would not interrupt this moment between them for all the tea in china. Thomas’s musk and lingering lavender from his soap combined with Lucille’s citrus and bergamot hair tonic, and her female arousal sent my head spinning.

Thomas moved Lucille over to the bed and sat her on the side, murmuring softly to her as he ran the backs of his fingers down over her bosom. Thomas’s hands slid down to her bosom, his thumb brushing over her peak. Lucille whined in the back of her throat. I knew her torment. Thomas gives at his own pace.

Lucille has the most beautiful bosom, more than a handful for me, just the right amount for Thomases hands Thomases large hands. Pale, creamy skin and red brown peaks that lengthen into utterly suckle all points. I find myself so drawn to them. I watched Thomas lick over one peak and closes his hand around the other, alternating, giving both equal attention as if he did not want either to feel neglected. I heard her hiss as his teeth closed over one nub.

“Dear God, Thomas…”

He chuckled and gave her peak one last swipe with his tongue. Her head fell back on her neck with a moan, her dark night plat pooling on the bed behind her, stark against her skin.

Thomas moved his lips to her other breast, suckling and pulling fresh moans from her. He kissed his way over Lucille’s belly as he went on one knee between her thighs. I watched spellbound as he kissed her sex.

When he pulled away he had one of Lucille’s plump lips between his teeth and was tugging it away from her body. She gasped as he did that and I pulled my gaze to her face.

She was leaning back, resting her weight on her elbows, looking deliciously wanton. She glanced slyly at me from under her lashes with her secret smile…  
Before me Thomas had two fingers buried in Lucille’s slick heat and his face was shining with her juices. Lucille gasped and closed her eyes as his thumb ran over the knot at the apex of her sex.

Lucille’s head was thrown back as she cried out, “Thomas!” and her eyes closed to better enjoy the sensations assaulting her.

“Thomas, brother, don’t tease me so.” she cried urgently, her hips lifting.

I was rather enjoying her being teased but I was familiar with the frustration he was subjecting her to. I could hardly blame her for wanting more. I was entranced by the scene playing out before me, unable to look away.

All I wanted was for Thomas to remove his nightshirt so that I might enjoy the sight of him, as I had done his sister, but he remained stubbornly clothed so far.  
Lucille was clearly being ravaged by Thomas’ tongue, thrashing about in wanton desperation as he unabashedly teased her until he had take a hold of her hips in an attempt to keep her still.

“Thomas, please!” Lucille cried and I saw him slow, gradually stopping his attentions until she was just mewling, desperate for more as he held her down.  
At last Thomas got to his feet and pulled his nightshirt off, flinging it aside with abandon. His manhood shone warm and tall in the firelight and I sighed; I would have liked it’s silky soft, rock hardness in my mouth, but tonight was for Lucille.

He stood still for a moment, revealed to my lustful gaze, but he didn’t leave Lucille waiting for long. He approached the bed again and took hold of Lucille’s hips, pushing her further onto it before crawling on after her. Her legs parted easily and he settled himself between her thighs, poised at her entrance while he looked at her teasingly.

“Yes sister? What is it that you want?”

I saw her hands tighten on his shoulders, her fingertips dimpling his skin. She moaned.

He chuckled lowly, his hand moving down her body, tracing a fingertip around her navel before moving lower. The full moon’s light shining through the window was so bright, it might have been mistaken for noon – if the light had been golden instead of silver. I could see them clearly, sharply defined in black and white as they touched each other, their tenderness beginning to morph into urgency.

Thomas leaned up on his elbow looking down her body as his fingers stroked over her mound and down the seam of her lips. Lucille’s breath stuttered and her hips writhed against his hand.

The creases beside his eyes deepened when she moved with him, yet his face stayed stern and intent upon her. That look on his face has always thrilled me in some unexpected way, sending a tiny spike of apprehension through me, while knowing I was utterly safe in his regard.

Thomas pushed slowly into her, and I knew that burning stretch, the catch of her breath as her body adjusted to his intrusion.

I laid my head on my arm and lay on my side, enclosed in a warm dreamlike state, watching as my Husband and sister made love. Thomas pushed her thighs apart and bent over her, thrusting into her to the hilt as she cried out. Her hips lifted and rocked against his as he stroked into her slowly and sweetly over and over, until her head began to roll back and forth and a litany of pleas fell from her lips. His hips began to speed their pace.

He lifted a hand from her bosom and slid it between them. I knew what he was doing, what he was touching, exactly what she was feeling as she cried out. My own breath came faster along with Lucille’s, almost as if he were touching me as well.

“Yes, sister.” he murmured quietly, pushing her undone. I felt my own body throb and gasped as Lucille’s head tilted back on her long arched neck with a cry.  
Thomas’s breath stuttered and he pulled away to spend on her belly with a groan, milking himself with his hand. He bent over her, propped on one trembling arm, head hanging low and gasping for breath for a long moment before he rolled to her side with a groan.

I drifted off to sleep, lulled by their quiet breathing and wrapped in the warm scented air of their lovemaking.

****

Becoming aware of my surroundings by increments, I woke slowly, the warm weight of the comforter over my body, the softness of the pillow under my head, the warmth of the morning sunlight shining through the window. The smell of lovely bergamot. I’ve developed a positive longing for this particular tea in the mornings. My brain began to function sufficiently that I realized someone had brought me my favorite tea and I opened my eyes to find Lucille setting a steaming cup on the bedside table, fully dressed, a gentle smile curving her lips as she sat on the bed at my hip, her hands folded properly in her lap.

A smile bloomed on my face, and I felt my cheeks warm as I remembered Lucille as she was the night before, biting her lip, her eyes flashing, staring down into my eyes as she touched and stroked Thomas. Even now I felt my breath shortened at the memory of Thomas wrapped around her, nuzzling and biting my neck as he thrust into her.

“Edith.”

I smiled and lifted my mouth for a kiss. Her hand slid under my head and her lips brushed over mine in a long, teasing, sensuous, dragging kiss. Oh, the opium eaters had surely never had such a fine drug as this…my hand crept into her hair, the fine black silk catching in my fingers.

Lucille sat up slowly with a slightly guilty look and flushed cheeks.

“Lucille?” I asked, confused. “Is everything all right?”

She smiled and took my hand.

“Edith, sister. It has been well over a month since…since our first night together.” She paused and asked matter-of-factly “Have you bled?”

I shook my head, unwilling to acknowledge my hope. Her hands tightened on mine and I looked up to see her smile lighting her eyes, so like Thomas’s eyes, pulling my own unwilling hope into the light. Lucille laid a palm on my cheek.

“My love, you have always been regular… I do think you might be with child.”

She waited, watching with that careful gaze of hers as the color bloomed in my cheeks, and hope, real hope rose like a hot air balloon in my chest.

“…Do you really think so, sister?” I asked when I could find breath in my lungs. Lucille studied me seriously and then reached out and cupped my bosom. She gave it a small squeeze and smiled when I flinched back at the unexpected tenderness of my flesh. Her hand caressed my cheek and she smiled brilliantly down at me.

“Yes, I do. Thomas will be so pleased.”

A wave of happiness rolled over me, and then a wave of uncertainty.

“And you?” I whispered, “Are you pleased, sister?” I watched her face carefully, for Lucille very rarely telegraphs her feelings. Her hand tightened on my cheek, drawing me to her mouth.

She kissed me sweetly, lovingly, her lips lingering on mine a long moment before she drew me to her bosom and clasped me warmly to her.

“Darling Edith, nothing would make me happier than to have our child in our arms by Christmas.” she said quietly.

I watched her always calm and contained countenance shine with joy and knew that we were at last a family, all three of us, whatever might happen. And that we would all happily make room in our family for all the children with whom we might be blessed.

My stomach roiled uncomfortably and I swayed. Lucille grasped my arm in alarm, steadying me.

“Edith, you’ve gone positively green! Lie back darling…” Her gentle hands pushed me back against my pillows.

My stomach rolled sickeningly, not liking the change of position at all. I pushed upright, knowing that I was seconds from disgracing myself all over the bed.  
Lucille scrambled off the bed to reach for and bring the basin from the dresser top just in time for me to retch into it.

Lucille efficiently rolled me onto my side and tucked the basin under my head. After retching several times I lay wrung out and panting into the bowl. I became aware of Lucille stroking my back and crooning to me.

When it became obvious that I likely was not going to immediately resume turning myself inside out, Lucille removed the basin to the bedside table and wrung out a facecloth with fresh water from the ewer. She gently wiped my face and the back of my neck. Leaving the cooling cloth there, she brought over a glass and poured water for me, instructing me to rinse and drink. Never had cool water tasted so good! After several moments curled on my side, holding as still as possible to avoid inciting a fresh bout of regurgitation, I blinked my eyes open.

“Am I ill? Will it hurt the baby?” I voiced my frantic worry, my voice ravaged. Lucille smiled.

“No darling. This is simply nature’s way.” she said sympathetically.

She stood to take away the basin and its foul contents, and Thomas smoothly took her place beside me, pushing the tail of his coat behind him and hitching his trousers at the knee. Thomas took my hand and smiled hopefully down at me.

“Have you something to tell me, my love?” I darted a blushing glance at him.

“Lucille seems to believe that I am with child…”

Thomas nearly glowed with smug male satisfaction. He swooped down to kiss my cheek.

“She also seems inordinately pleased,” I grumbled, “that my bosom hurts and I’m heaving my guts out-”

“Edith!” Lucille stopped halfway across the room in shock, the clean basin in her hands. “Such coarse language, sister! Really!” she spluttered.

I looked at Thomas to see his eyes creased in amusement. A snicker escaped me. His mischievous grin bloomed over his face, his strong white teeth flashing, and we laughed together at Lucille’s indignation. She huffed at us, and marched the rest of the way across the room to set the basin down with a thump, but she wore a small smile at our teasing.


	13. Chapter 13

That was but the beginning of my tribulations. Lucille had explained about travail, the process of expelling the child when he was grown enough, that it is an involuntary and somewhat messy process. That fastidious Lucille had accomplished it herself gave me some comfort. 

I still have no understanding how so large an object as a baby could possibly grow inside my body between my ribs and hips, but Lucille assures me that it is not only possible, but inevitable.

That the baby, when his time comes will somehow force his way from my body through that small aperture? That seems a terrifying impossibility.

But then I recall my wedding night and my first sight of Thomas rampant. I had been certain that he was too large to fit, and that I would certainly be dead by morning if he tried! But he had been correct, of course. After the shock of his first thrust I had very quickly come to enjoy the activity greatly. Perhaps it will be the same for childbirth.

Lucille survived it, so I must trust that the whole rigmarole is at least possible! Even my own mother survived it! I smirked ungenerously at the thought of my mother, who could not even bring herself to utter the word ‘pregnancy’, actually going through the process. Twice!

In the interim, what Lucille had not mentioned was the constant nausea with which I was plagued. There were days, even weeks, when the merest scent of food would send me scrambling ungraciously for the nearest basin, and all the contents of my stomach returned forthwith. It was all very tedious, and decidedly un-ladylike!

When I chanced to apologize to Thomas for my behavior, he laughed. Assuring me that as I was a lady, anything that I do must perforce be ladylike. I wanted to throw my shoe at him.  
Thomas was taking all the foo-raw with an amused delight. While he was sympathetic, he also seemed indecently gleeful that my stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.  
Lucille has been solicitous to the point of driving me mad with her constant care and fuss. Oh! I am quite out of sorts! I know not whether I want cosseting or solitude!

My emotional upheaval has been as strong and revolting as my physical upheaval. I found myself being quite irritable, and tearful by turns. Lucille has helped me many times through helpless bouts of tears, and been snapped at for her pains. Bless her, she always takes my temper in good part. And that makes me wish to throw my shoe at her, too! Oh, I am all topsy-turvy!

The worst part, (truthfully the worst part is whatever tempest I am suffering at any given moment!)… But the specter that hangs over all is my inability to sleep in the same bed as my loves! My constant tossing and turning, blankets on, blankets off, and climbing in and out of bed with my need for either the basin or the chamber frustrates and annoys me. I was disturbing their rest as well as my own. I felt irritated that they awoke at my tossings and turnings, as if they were censuring me for my involuntary sleeplessness, though they both assured me not.

But the worst of the worst, is that I simply could not bear to have them in the bed with me. I felt trapped and suffocated between them, waking in a fluster any time either of them should chance to touch me in my sleep. A comforting hand on my waist, an innocent tangling of feet beneath the bedcovers, and I was jolted awake in a panic, certain I could not breathe!

And so Thomas had returned to his own bedchamber, and Lucille slept on the chaise longue near our bed. I miss them desperately, yet I could not bear sleeping in the same bed. All these contradictions are fair to making me quite cross!

****

“It’s called 'hyper-emisis gravidarium’,” Lucille explained to me one morning when I moaned once more about feeling so ill, as she gently stoked my hair.

“Vomiting pregnancy??” I translated from the Latin, appalled. “Surely you jest, Lucille!” I said in outrage.

“Honestly, Sister! Don’t frighten the girl! Edith darling, the midwives call it 'morning sickness’ and it is quite common in the first few weeks. It will pass presently.” Thomas reassured me.

I slumped in relief and narrowed my eyes at Lucille. She obviously must pay for her cool scientific observation whilst I had been so copiously and indelicately regurgitating these past weeks.

I was actually feeling very much better today. Well enough that my usual desire to commit mischief reared it’s head. I laid the back of my wrist over my forehead, trying it on, and moaned. Lucille looked stricken and gently pulled me into a comforting embrace.

“I am so sorry, my love. Will you forgive my insensitivity?” she murmured into my hair.

I looked over her shoulder at Thomas with a wink and a smile.

Thomas’s delight in my pregnancy, and all is outward symptoms, even through my most indelicate moments had both annoyed and pleased me. I could not help but smile at him, now that I wasn’t feeling as if my stomach were trying to turn itself out.

I did my best to scowl at him, despite the smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth, rejoicing in the abatement of symptoms. It seems a miracle to feel so well, so suddenly. My disposition lifted, enough so that I felt quite giddy.

So I scowled teasingly at Thomas.

“Whatever are you smiling at, dear Husband?” I narrowed my eyes. Thomas’s brows went up and his eyes lit as he recognized my playfulness. “Do not think I am not cognizant of exactly on whom to lay fault for my current predicament, Husband!” Thomas laughed.

“Oh no, dear wife! Do not assign blame to me!” He stepped back, his hands held up innocently. “I am but Lucille’s poor tool and merely did as I was told!” he said, over a teasing smile.

“I see.” I turned to arch an accusing brow at Lucille as she spluttered. I crooked a finger at her.

“Come here, if you please, Sister.”

Lucille’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before amusement overtook her. She sat on the bed next to me, and I took her face in my hands, kissing her gratefully.

“Thank you, Sister…” I whispered against her lips. Her arms came around me in a gentle embrace, her tongue delicately touching and tangling with mine.

Thomas sat on the bed behind me, wrapping around me, including both of us in his arms. I breathed deeply of my joy and contentment, grateful beyond measure to be granted this one moment of peace.

We remained thus entwined for quite a few moments. I basked in the warmth of the touch of their bodies. Naturally, my empty stomach took the opportunity to make it self known, loudly gurgling and complaining.

Thomas laughed, stood, stooped to kiss my forehead, and stepped away.

“You’ll need sustenance, my love.” Lucille started to stand but Thomas put out a hand to stay her.

“You could do with a meal yourself, Sister. Stay. I’ll see to it.” And he strode away across the bed chamber and out the door with vigor and purpose. Both of us watched him go.  
As the tails of his coat disappeared into the hallway, we turned back to each other. I sighed in pure appreciation of the sight of my husband’s back view. Lucille’s eyes met mine and merriment sparkled there between us. We both began to giggle behind our hands, in a complete harmony of understanding. I bumped my shoulder into hers.

“He’s a very handsome man, your brother.” I said. Her eyes twinkled.

“He knows it too.” She sighed, shaking her head. “He wraps me around his smallest finger…” A rueful smile on her lips.

“Sister, we are in accord.” I answered with my own rueful smile.

Once the morning sickness passed, I put my foot down. I refused to sleep without either of my loves in my bed. There would be no more separate bed chambers! No more!  
Our Thomas was marvelously patient with my whims. Not meek, no, Thomas could never be meek… but he made an effort to be accommodating and helpful, never once complaining of all the lady’s work that we asked of him. He seemed to find the whole rigmarole amusing and delightful.

Our beautiful Thomas… So often I would glance up and find him looking at me, his eyes resting on my increasing belly with a soft smile. He cherishes us. All of us.

***  
Finally, we were getting the renovations and repairs in hand. Thomas was busy with his inventions, and I… well, I was writing again. So prolifically that my agent was insisting that we hold back some publications for fear of flooding the market! Thomas had found me an Agent here in England, and reported that my republished little books were doing quite well here. We had left my American Agent to handle the American market, and Thomas and his solicitor had seen to it that my legal status and contracts were all regularized in my new married name, and my royalties placed in the Bank of England for ready access.

It fell to Lucille to direct the workmen for our renovations. And a marvelous job of it she did! She was very firm about carrying out our plans and saw to the day to day work on the house, and the safety of the workers. Gradually the entire house became weatherproof and livable. We would plan our first ball for the surrounding families after the baby’s christening, and have a beautiful ballroom in which to do it!

I was a little bit hesitant about making such plans, but both Thomas and Lucille insisted all would be well with the birth and the child. Their faith carried me through my doubts and fears.

My pregnancy continued apace, Lucille assuring me at every turn that all was well. I must take her word for it, she having been through the experience.

The return of my desire for sexual congress shocked me in it’s intensity and suddenness..

Around the end of my fourth month, after the nausea and exhaustion had abated somewhat, I found myself craving Thomas and Lucille in a way that astonished me. It was as if my body had been overtaken by a shameless strumpet, my desire for the two of them became insatiable.

I woke one night between them, staring at the ceiling of our bedchamber, my insides churning with want. Need. It had been nearly 6 weeks since I had been able to tolerate more than a buss on the cheek. But I suddenly experienced this burgeoning need for Lucille’s hands on my body, Thomas in my body.

I rolled toward Lucille’s sleeping form and looked at her. I had taken to leaving the drapes open at night because somehow it calmed me to see the moonlight pouring in if I chanced to wake in the night.

She was so beautiful in repose…The small differences between Thomas and herself were the tiny tip tilt of her nose, as opposed to Thomas’s straight strong more Romanesque nose, and the feminine fullness of her lips. Lips that I craved.

I lay watching the moonlight silver her profile, her dark lashes fanned across her pale cheeks, the bows of her lips enticing me. My hand reached almost without volition to her breast, covering it and tracing around it. Lucille stirred.

I nudged my nose up under her ear, and kissed the soft skin there. She stirred again and rolled her head, murmuring something incoherent. I nudged her again a bit more urgently.

“Lucille… sister…” I whispered as I nuzzled her neck. Lucille rolled over, her arms coming around me.

“Are you well, my love?” she whispered to me. Something inside me is urging me, now. Now. Now!

Her hand came up and cradled my head as my lips moved down her neck to kiss the sweetness in the hollow of her throat, down over her breast bone and the slope of her bosom, licking and tasting. Her body stirred to life under my lips, her chest arching as my lips latched onto her peak and suckled. She moaned quietly. I trailed a line of kisses down her body nuzzling and nibbling at the soft skin below her navel, and slowly back up her body to her mouth.

Pulling my aching body along hers, feeling her hardened peaks driving against my skin as I found her sweet mouth…

Her arms came around me, clasping my body to hers and rocking against me until one hand moved into my hair to press my mouth closer to hers.

I felt the bed move, and soon realized that Thomas had awakened to our lovemaking. His hand trailed lightly down my back to the dip in my spine, leaving goosebumps on my skin as I drove my tongue into Lucille’s mouth and tangled with hers.

Thomas’s hand dipped lower, into the cleft of my derrière, teasing there, as Lucille’s thigh pushed between mine and lifted against me, grinding against my moisture. I heard Thomas groan away behind me, and felt him moving. He moved between our knees, his hands running over the backs of my thighs, and trailing between my thighs and to Lucille’s, and back.

Lucille moaned and lifted her hips, and perforce me, Thomas propped himself over us on his hands at our shoulders and bent to leave open mouthed kisses over my neck and shoulder, leaving a tantalizing trail of moisture on my skin. His cheek nudged mine, pushing me away and taking my place at Lucille’s lips. I might have been inclined to protest, but I felt his prick rubbing against the inside of my thigh, his hips undulating to chafe himself against both myself and Lucille.

Lucille quivered under me and I knew at her gasp that Thomas was prodding against her entrance. Lucille’s knees pushed between my legs, lifting and spreading us both for Thomas’s rampant prick, as he poised on his long arms above us.

Thomas slid home into me and pulled me up in onto my knees thus impaled, one arm across my body, his palm grasping my bosom, the other sliding over the bump of my belly and into my cleft to pluck at my nub.

I cried out at the electric shocks reverberating up my spine, throwing my head back against his shoulder. Lucille’s gaze pinned us, her eyes hungrily darting from Thomas’s hand on my breast to his other, watching his fingers slide between my folds. Her eyes lifted over my shoulder and I knew she was staring into his eyes, communicating in their way…

A hot wave of lust prickled over my body at the yearning in her face. Thomas released me, gently pushing me back down to Lucille’s lips, and I felt him withdraw from me, leaving me clenching over forlorn emptiness. Lifting Lucille’s knees, he thrust into her right below me as I kissed her fiercely.

I pushed my hand between us, sliding between her wet folds as I kissed across her throat and down to her bosom, kissing and suckling. My fingers sought out that hard knot, and circled it as Thomas drove into her. I could hear his little grunts of exertion and satisfaction in my ear each time she cried out.

And then she arched up with a wail, releasing on my fingers and Thomas’s prick. Thomas stilled, a rumble in his throat as she rippled around him. My fingers continued to stroke her softly as her body at last relaxed limply. A wave of joy, and possibly pride went through me at her release. I nuzzled her and kissed her tenderly until she opened her eyes and smiled up at me tiredly.

I felt Thomas take a firmer grip of my hips, carefully sliding his still rampant prick into me, and his satisfied groan as he invaded me. Oh, I needed this, had missed it so much while I was ill! I threw my head back, reveling in the sensation of my husband filling me once again.

Thomas began a lazy rocking rhythm as Lucille’s hands moved over me, petting and stroking, cherishing my flesh. She cautiously cupped my quite tender bosom, thumbs delicately stroking at my peaks and creating the most delicious ache that built and built, spreading deep into my belly.

Thomas kissed along the back of my neck, and over my shoulders as he rocked into me. Lucille’s hand trailed down from my bosom to briefly cup the small roundness below my navel and then into my folds, seeking out and giving me what I need most, soaring release from both my loves. Thomas followed right behind me, still in that gentle rocking motion, a soft exhalation in my ear.

He rolled away, pulling me easily from Lucille and tucking my back into the curve of his body. My eyes fluttered shut, but I drew the obstinance things open, for Lucille was on her side, looking softly at me and tucking a wayward strand of my hair tenderly behind my ear.

“All right, my love?” she inquired quietly of me.

I smiled tiredly at her, my eyes drooping shut once again… The last thing I recall before dropping into sleep like a stone was Thomas’s indulgent chuckle.

“Shh, sister. She’s already found her dreams…”


	14. Chapter 14

Lucille and I often walked down to the village in the mornings, about a thirty minute stroll. It wasn't much; a church, of course, but there were a greengrocer's and a butcher's and a post office and a general store where we occasionally made purchases. But shopping wasn't the reason for our constitutionals, our purchases were for visiting. Lucille seemed intent on introducing me to every inhabitant of the village. Cook generally took care of shopping for the Hall's groceries. Lucille often stopped in at the homes where a family member was injured or ill, to visit with the pensioners, or new mothers.

It was during one of our visits that we were dismayed to learn of the unexpected death of Mrs. Crewe, the village midwife, of a brain storm. Apparently the poor woman just dropped down dead in the High Street! We were further dismayed to find that she left no apprentice behind to take over. It was the talk of the town, everyone gossiping and wondering what next.

It was certainly the topic of intense interest to me. I had assumed that I would be attended by Mrs. Crewe when my time came, and I felt very...at sea.

***  
I stood staring out the night-time window, the garden under a full bright moon, and the shadows sharp, painting the world in black and white. Even the stars paled in the bright white light of the moon. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, clutching my robe closed near my throat. I leaned my forehead against the cold glass and stared out at the stark landscape and dark sky. The cold felt good against my skin. I breathed in deep of the cold, close air over the surface of the nearly icy window. It soothed the ache there, over my right eye. An unbidden tear trickled down my cheek.

Thomas found me at the window and slid his arms around me, pulling me back into the warmth of his body through his dressing gown.

"Why so pensive, my love?" he murmured into my temple. I lifted my eyes and searched his in our reflections in the window glass. I read a genuine curiosity as he awaited my reply.

I returned my gaze to the vast, sere moor, my hands smoothing over my rounding belly in a caress that has become habitual.

"I'm afraid, Thomas..." I whispered against the glass. Thomas gently turned me in his arms, one hand pressing my head to his chest, his heart thumping reassuringly under my ear, and the other hand slid over the high curve of my belly, eliciting a brief shiver at his touch.

"Edith, my love, you needn't be afraid. All will be well..."

"Thomas..." my hand wrapped protectively over my belly. "What... what if he is born like Poppet?" I paused and swallowed. "I would fear for Lucille, Thomas. I'm not sure she could withstand more sorrows. And selfishly... I'm afraid that she would hate me for failing to give you the heir she so ardently desires for you... I'm afraid, Thomas..." I trailed off, my throat beginning to close off with choking tears.

"Look, my love," he nudged my chin around to see us in the glass. "Every time I see you, I cannot help but see a beloved child coming to us. He...he will be as God makes him, without reference to our feelings in the matter. I can't promise that he will be perfectly formed or even that God won't take him back too soon. But I can promise that he will be loved, and you will be loved. Edith, my darling, Lucille could never hate you!"

He kissed my forehead, his arms tightening around me. "You are... you have become the center of our little family, Edith, my love. We cherish you, darling." he whispered into my hair.

I was not surprised to feel another pair of arms slide around me from behind, a tall, slender, warm, presence at my back.

"Listen to Thomas, dearest." Her lips ghosted below my ear as she murmured, "You are cherished...we cherish you," she echoed her sibling.

"Thomas?" Lucille lifted her head to his, "I think she needs some diversion..." She lowered her voice, "What shall we do with our bride, Brother?"

His lips slid along my jaw and down my neck, stopping at the pulse of my heart's blood against his lips. Lucille's hand traced down my spine. Thomas dipped his knees and effortlessly swung me up in his arms, carrying me across to the bed. Lucille followed as he strode to the bed and laid me gently down.

He knelt up on the bed next to me, his hands moved to untie the sash on my robe, his eyes tender on my face.

Lucille knelt on my other side and reached to brush my robe away exposing me chest, belly, and thighs, to their eyes. Thomas looked almost gleeful, Lucille nearly reverent.

Suddenly I knew, knew without a doubt that I will willingly pay any price for this moment. The loving and possessive looks on their faces, so aroused, a similar emotional storm in me for each of them, separately, and together. I have become part of their family. We are a family all together…I am no longer an afterthought, a nuisance, an irritation, or mere decoration…

Lucille lay next to me on her side, her face even with mine and nuzzled my cheek, lips grazing my skin. Thomas’s hand cupped the underside of my bosom and his warm mouth descended on it, giving the gentlest of tugs, pulling at my flesh. My back arched helplessly up with a moan reverberating in my chest.

She kissed me, her lips still tasting of wine from supper, her tongue teasing between mine. Thomas slid down my body, kissing over the high dome of my belly, his warm breath rifling through my curls as he held me open as he desired.

He moved Lucille’s leg to the side to pin my near leg down.

His lips descended and he kissed me there, his tongue nudging through my folds. Lucille’s hand moving to tighten in my hair, and her body pressing against mine, her thigh thrown over my legs possessively.

“Hold our bride, sister…” wrapping a hand around my calf he pushed my other leg away and up.

I needed to… I couldn't move, however desperate I was to press against his warm mouth, the most I could manage was to tilt my hips up a smidge. Thomas’s hot tongue licked a broad stripe up my sex, entrance to nub. Thomas began to drive me mad, lapping at me, and my hips began to twitch uncontrollably. I wanted to roll my eyes into the back of my head, he felt so good.

Thomas took a firmer grip of my thigh, pushing my knee higher. I was nearly delirious with need. He pushed a finger into me and suddenly I was spiraling into the heavens. 

My vision was sparkling as I gasped for breath. I couldn't… I vaguely heard Lucille's voice raised in alarm as my entire body throbbed to my heartbeat…

Thomas was telling me in those aristocratic tones of his, in no uncertain terms, to “Wake up this instant, wife!”

My lungs began to work again, pulling needed air as I made an effort to obey him. I whispered, all the volume I could manage.

Thomas leaned close to my lips. “What's that, darling?”

I tried again, managing a bit more volume.

“Yes, milord…” I said with a small smirk.

His arms slid around me and scooped me up to press against his body, his lips at the skin behind my ear.

“Yes, I am your Lord, Edith my girl! You would do well to remember it, and you *will*obey me!” He whispered tenderly into my hair as he rocked me.

I nodded into his chest, turning to look for Lucille, only to find her kneeling directly behind me, her hand on Thomas's shoulder, watching me with concern.

I reached up and wove my fingers into the hair that had escaped her plait, and tugged her head close to mine.

“I'm sorry…” Guilt at frightening Lucille running through my body. Lucille pulled back when I said that, just far enough to read my sincerity. Her eyes filled with tears. She dashed them from her face quickly.

“You just listen to our Thomas, silly girl!”

I nodded. "Yes, sister." I whispered.

Thomas moved to lay me down, straightening my limbs, pulling blankets over me, both of them sliding under on either side of me and cuddling up.

"What on earth happened?" I asked. Lucille's eyes sparked at Thomas and he looked guilty.  
"You are too big, now, to lie on your back... the weight of the baby constricted your air, and you fainted. You'll be all right now. How do you feel?"

"Fine. A bit knackered."

Lucille's eyebrows shot up and Thomas snickered quietly. "She's been around your laborers far too much, Thomas!" she pinned him with a narrow eyed look, switching her gaze back to me.

"Knackered is a very common term, Edith. I won't have you sounding like a navvy!" she scolded. I laid my head on her shoulder. 

"Yes, sister." I said. She stroked my hair

Thomas leaned up on an elbow and reached for a kiss from her, and another for me.

"Good night, my darlings." His voice comforting and content.


	15. Chapter 15

“Oh my dear, the scandal of the century!” Mama wrote, “Matthews had it directly from Mrs. McMichael’s lady’s maid that poor Eunice has miscarried of an infant! She promptly expired of hemorrhage! The McMichaels have put it about that she was very ill of influenza, to explain why she had disappeared from the social scene for the past month, but Matthews said that she had been confined to her bed for all that time! Imagine! A well brought up young lady producing a bastard! I daresay that Mrs. McMichael is quite relieved that she need not explain an illegitimate grandchild! Poor Eunice would have been quite ruined if the truth got out!

Oh and, sad news… Mrs. Simmons has died along with her seventh infant – another daughter they say. I shall miss her dreadfully! Such a sparkling, lively presence she was, so witty and lovely, for all she was constantly burdened with one child after another. I am quite prostrate at her loss! I daresay Mr. Simmons will soon be shopping for a young bride to take over the raising of all those left behind orphans…”

I dropped Mama’s letter with shaking hands, my heart clenching. Now that I am a married lady, Mama seems to think that it is her duty to keep me appraised of all the births and deaths and scandals of my former social set in Buffalo- leaving no detail un-gossiped about. Her letters are filled with dire tales and sniping gossip.

Her stories of childbirth are particularly harrowing. All the taboo subjects that she refused to speak about to me when I was a young, unmarried maiden are now spilling out of her in a veritable fountain of gore and death…

I lay my aching head on my arms and cried in the weak winter sunlight illuminating my writing desk. Cried for Eunice and her poor babe, and for Mrs. Simmons. Mrs. Simmons who had been all but a second mother to me, so sweet and caring and lively. She was the only one who ever encouraged me in my thirst for knowledge and in my writing. I cried quite heartbrokenly, for my heart was indeed broken.

Mama has been writing me weekly, the closer I get to my confinement, her letters full of lurid stories of childbirth gone wrong, saying that I must be prepared for the trials that God gave Eve. She sends me all sorts of old wive’s tales, full of dire advice that I must take or risk the well-being of my babe. I must never raise my arms above my head, lest I strangle my baby on his cord. I must never look on a deformed person, lest my baby develop the same deformity. Nor must I handle a sharp knife, lest the pain of my travail be sharp… So many ridiculous, unscientific cautions and yet utterly terrifying to me in my vulnerable emotional state..

I pressed my face harder into my arm as I cried, my spectacles digging and cutting into the bridge of my nose and cheeks, the pain of it helping me block some of the pain I feel at Mrs. Simmons’ death.

Then Thomas was there, kneeling beside me, his hand caressing comfortingly on my arm.

“My darling, whatever is the matter? Are you well? What troubles you, my love? You mustn’t cry…"

I shook my head, crying too hard to explain. How could I tell Thomas of Mama’s old wive’s tales and the taboos that I have already broken many times? Poppet…

No explanation forthcoming from me, Thomas stood and looked over my desk, seeking his answers. He picked up Mama’s letter and began to read, his eyes skimming rapidly across her flowery and curlicue’d handwriting, muttering under his breath as he deciphered the thing.

“That blasted woman!” Thomas exploded. “Is this the sort of thing that she thinks appropriate to foist on an innocent young woman before her travail?! How dare she?!” Thomas was thoroughly incensed.

“The idiot woman sent you to your marriage bed so ignorant and naïve it should have been a crime, and now this?? Pah!” He threw mama’s letter down, the doom-laden pages fluttering over the carpet.

“Darling, you mustn’t let yourself be upset by all that rubbish! Oh my darling…”

Thomas plucked me out of my chair and carried me to the more capacious chair by the fire, seating himself and arranging me on his lap, enfolding me in his loving strong arms as if he could shelter me from all Mama’s tales of disaster and catastrophe. He rocked me and petted me patiently.

“There now, my love. Get it all out.” He murmured, rubbing my back as I sobbed into his shoulder. As my storm of tears subsided into the odd hiccup, Thomas soothed and comforted me with tales of all the children running about in the village- to balance, he said, my mother’s overly-dramatic rendition of disaster.

I am surprised to learn that Thomas knows the names of all the village children, and that he has had so many interactions with them. He seems to know each of them, and has something funny or sweet to relate to me about each child.

“You mustn’t let your mother upset you, my darling. I won’t have you being subjected to such ghastly tales. In fact, I forbid you to read any more of her poisonous missives!”  
I would normally bristle at anyone telling me what I could or could not read, husband or no, but in this case, I find myself grateful.

But… but I must know one thing.

“Eunice, Thomas,” I whispered, “did you…?

“No! Never!” He shuddered. “The most I ever touched was her hand when dancing. No, I promise you darling, poor Eunice did not find her downfall in my arms!“

A vast relief swamped me, that my Thomas had never been with her. I couldn’t bear it if… No. I wouldn’t think on it!

“Now come, my darling. Let us find you some more congenial activity!” He helped me to stand, carefully steadying me.

“I have just the thing!” He helped me on with an overdress in the Empire fashion, which is a far more comfortable and commodious garment for an expecting woman. Thomas had early forbidden me to wear my corsets as my belly began to expand. It took me some little while to become used to my corset-less state, feeling scandalously naked at first. Although I must say the Empire waist does not do a good job of containing my suddenly over-abundant bosom!

After bundling me up in my coat and warmest hat, Thomas led me outside. It really was rather warm for November, the sunshine felt wonderful on my face.

“Where are you taking me, Husband?” I asked curiously as he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and strolled with me around the side of the house. Thomas smiled, his face lighting in anticipation.

“I’ve got someone for you to meet. Several someones, in fact!” he said mysteriously.

“Thomas! I’m hardly dressed for visiting! And my hair!” I stopped walking, tugging Thomas to a halt, perforce.

“Oh,” Thomas said airily. “They won’t mind. They’re not ones to stand much on ceremony, I’m sure.” His eyes positively sparkled in some mischief. “Now come along, we mustn’t be late!”

I huffed slightly as Thomas pulled me along the gravel path by my hand, towards the old stables. Sigh. Another bit of Allerdale that must be renovated, I thought as I looked into the gloom of the rather ramshackle building.

“Thomas, really! Wherever are you taking me?” I knew I sounded a bit peevish, but my curiosity had certainly been piqued.

“Just here.” He stopped at the foot of a ladder that led far away up into the hayloft, and gestured upward. My mouth fell open as I stared up into the rafters, bits of daylight showing between the old boards of the roof high above. My hands went to my belly, rounding under my coat.

“Are you quite insane?? You want me to climb the ladder? In this state? And in my skirts?”

“Yes. I absolutely expect you to climb that ladder, Wife!” He challenged me. “Come along, I’ll help. You can do it. I’ll be right behind you!” He cajoled with an excited smile.

“Thomas…” I said helplessly.

“Edith, darling. I would never let you fall!” He sobered. “I will always keep you safe. You can always trust me.” he said confidently. He put one hand behind my neck and gently pulled me into a kiss, his lips roaming over mine and his other hand going to caress my belly.

“I will always keep you both safe, my love…” he whispered firmly in a tone that said he was certain he could do just that. My eyes went back to the looming ladder and I swallowed, shoving my fear down.

“All right…” I said faintly, throwing caution and propriety to the winds.

"That’s my girl! You’re going to love this!” the anticipation back in his face. Right. I squared my shoulders. If Thomas believes I can do this, then I can. How…  
I grasped the ladder with one hand and lifted my skirts with the other, looking up trepidatiously.

“Wait.” Thomas bent and reached between my ankles, grasping and pulling the back hem of my skirt between and up my legs to my waist, turning my encumbering skirts into trousers, of sorts.

“Now try it. Both hands on the ladder, darling. I’m right behind you.”

Placing both hands on the ladder as he directed, I lifted my foot onto the first rung. Yes. This would work… I went up the ladder carefully, my belly scraping against each successive rung, Thomas’s warm body right behind mine, one hand holding my skirt up for me, as he murmured encouragement.

I reached the top of the ladder, seeing into a hayloft for the first time in my life, bales piled high and straw scattered around.

“You will have to crawl up on your hands and knees, now. You’re doing well… I’ve got you.” He gave me a nudge to get me up over the edge onto the floor of the loft. He nimbly followed me up and soon was pulling me to my feet. I breathed relief.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He grinned at me. “My brave girl.” He kissed the tip of my nose. I shook out my skirts.

“Yes. Well, we still have to get back down again you know!” I teased, feeling much more the thing with solid floor under my feet.

“Now. What is so important that you pushed me up a ladder?” Thomas smiled widely and took my hand.

“Wait till you see!” He pulled me over to a low hay bale and gestured into a shadowed spot.

Oh! A cat. A black and white cat curled around several kittens, and several more tussling with each other, tucked into a nest between the bales. The cat looked up at me, purring for all the world as if she were proud to have her babies inspected.

“Oh Thomas… how wonderful!” I carefully went to my knees to see better. Thomas joined me, his warm hand on my shoulder.

“Oh aren’t they adorable?” I enthused.

“This lady’s name is Queenie.” Thomas introduced me, rubbing a finger along her jaw. “She is our top mouser, out here in the barn.”

“Can I touch them?” I asked him

“Oh certainly! Queenie enjoys attention, as is her due, of course!” He reached past me and stroked the mother cat’s body, then ran a long finger across her cheek. Her purr intensified as she lifted her chin, plainly encouraging more. I was suddenly reminded of Lucille.

I tentatively reached a hand out to stroke her head, feeling the rumbling purr and oh so soft fur under my fingers. I had never touched a cat before, though I had seen them of course, darting through the streets of Buffalo. Mama had never allowed us to have a cat, though many of her friends had one. She had said they were disgusting creatures, but how could something so soft and sweet be disgusting?

“So many kittens!” I laughed. “She must be a very busy mother!” I counted. “Six… no, seven!” Thomas laughed.

“You know, if Queenie here can manage seven babies, surely we three can manage one!” His hand ran across the hard swell of my belly and the baby thumped against his palm. He laughed delightedly.

“Here.” Thomas scooped up one of the romping kittens and set it in my hands, it’s tiny little claws pricking my skin as it mewled at it’s sudden translocation. I laughed and brought it close to my chest, cradling the little black scrap with it’s darling white bib and feet, it’s wide blue eyes looking back at me fearlessly.

“Oh how sweet! Oh Thomas…”

“These little chaps are almost three months old now. Ready to be weaned. I’ve been meaning to recruit one or two of them for the house. Cook has been complaining about mice in the larder.” he murmured.

I stroked the sweet little thing. Such a loud rumble from such a tiny chest! I quite fell in love as it curled against me. I rubbed my cheek in its soft fur.

“Well. Shall we bring this little chap back with us?” Thomas asked, as his long fingers stroked the kitten’s cheek. It meowed up at him. I laughed.

“Can we really, Thomas?” I pled.

“Of course, darling. He’ll need a little mate to keep him company, what do you say? Do you fancy another black and white, or this little gray thing?”

Oh, oh, I felt quite giddy as Thomas lifted another by its scruff and turned it about, examining it. It cried out and I snatched it away from him to cup the poor baby next to his brother. “Thomas!” I scolded.

We sat and played with the kittens and Mama’s dire letter was quite forgot. Thomas settled me to lean against him, his arm over my shoulder. He tipped my chin up and kissed me sweetly.

“You’re going to be such a wonderful mother, far better than your own,” he said reassuringly as he stroked over the two kittens sleeping in my arms.

Eventually he stirred and chivvied me to my feet to go back to the house. He carefully put both kittens in his coat pocket, his hand in there settling and soothing them back to sleep.

We reversed our climb down the ladder, he carefully holding my skirts out of the way of my feet and guiding me back down the ladder.

“You realize that you will have to explain all this to Lucille, Thomas? Whatever will she say?”

“Never fear, darling. Lucille will forgive me anything, so long as I bring you home safe to her.”


	16. Chapter 16

Once again I awoke – the baby thumping away inside me fit to beat the band. I lay quietly, listening to the soft breathing on either side of me, and feeling the rhythmic movement of our baby. Does he have hiccups? I don't know, but the more he bumps about inside me, the less I am able to sleep.

I carefully climbed over Lucille, shushing her as she stirred.

"I must find the chamber again..." I muttered in her ear, and her hand came up and patted me in acknowledgment as I slithered out of the bed, tucking the blanket around her before I rose. I fumbled under the bed for my slippers and pulled on my thick dressing gown, making the promised stop to relieve myself.

I was too restless to return immediately to bed, so I wandered through the hall, looking at paintings and the running my fingers over the fine details of the woodwork around the walls and doorways. I found myself utterly riveted by the portrait of Thomas and Lucille's mother in the music room. This horrible woman was my child's grandmother...

Suddenly I could not stand for one more minute to have her oppressive glare overlooking our lives!

I pulled Lucille's piano bench to the wall in front of the portrait and inelegantly climbed up, pulling it in its heavy, ornate frame from the wall. I didn't overbalance coming down from the bench, but it was a near thing. I grimaced at the thought of Thomas's reaction, or Lucille's for that matter, if I should fall under this heavy thing, but it didn't stop me. I have rarely felt so determined in my life, some eldritch need driving me to be rid of the horrible thing, before... Before what, I know not.

It was awkward carrying the thing, but I struggled on. Where could I deposit it? I thought briefly about simply heaving her out the front door and leaving her there, but in the end I decided that she ought to be where she deserved, walled away with the torment that she had caused.

I carried her to the North wing and stopped, looking up the long set of stairs toward my goal. As I stood contemplating my task, my belly tightened again. I freed a hand to rub soothingly over the hard mound and waited for it to pass. It has been happening more and more frequently over the last fortnight or so, both Lucille and Thomas assuring me that the muscle of my womb was strengthening itself in preparation for expelling the child at the appropriate moment.

I had been a little afraid at first that the baby would arrive unexpectedly with one of these convulsions, but they had assured me that wouldn't be the case. In fact, Lucille had sounded rather wistful...

I hefted the portrait up the stairs, discovering that if I kept the forward edge slightly tilted upward, I could slide the monstrosity up the egde of the stair risers. I just had to be careful not to release my grip.

I was stopped three more times on my way up to the second floor, (or the first floor as Lucille insisted) by my womb tightening. It was quite difficult to balance the portrait on the stairs while rubbing my belly...

One more set of stairs to go... I heaved and pushed the dreadful object upward, losing count of the times I stopped to catch my breath and wipe the sweat from my brow, my belly mounding hard under my nightdress with every pause.

At last I arrived at my goal, dragging the awful old harridan to her final destination – the horrific, small dark closet in the nursery. I shoved her in, and stood panting, looking at her for the last time with a pure hatred that burned like a blue flame.

"Go to hell and stay there you wretched woman! Never, never trouble my loves again!" And I slammed the door shut. 

Wiping the sweat and angry tears from my face, I turned to find both Thomas and Lucille standing in the doorway of the nursery, faces pale and gaping at me. I dusted my hands off briskly and snapped my fingers rudely at the closet.

"That for the old bitch!"

Lucille gasped. "Edith! Your language!"

Thomas burst into laughter and strode across the echoing floorboards to me, catching me up in an embrace.

"Come along, my love," he wrapped an arm behind my back and urged me to the door. 

Lucille was still standing in the doorway, not venturing into the room, her fingers over her mouth and trembling. Her wide eyes were staring at the closet door with a look akin to terror on her face, as if she expected her mother to come bursting out of the closet. I hurried to her.

"Lucille, she's gone! We are all done with her! I will not have that-" I pointed at the closet, "or this -" I waved at the nursery- "in OUR child's life!" I said adamantly.

I slid my arm into hers and pulled her around. We walked from that hallway, forever from that part of her life.

Thomas followed on our heels, pulling the door firmly shut behind him without a backward glance. We came to the top of the stairs.

"Be careful of the banister..." I cautioned.

I drew a deep breath looking down the long flight of stairs. I felt a peculiar, soundless pop deep inside me, and felt a hot flood of liquid cascade down my thighs. I turned my head, my voice wavered as I looked up at my husband.

"T-Thomas?" My eyes were wide as I lifted the hem of my nightdress and peered over the great mound of my belly at my wet feet.

Thomas blinked at my feet blankly for a second, and then his eyes lifted to my belly, watching as it mounded up into a tight ball under my nightdress. I gasped, the familiar feeling of tightness transmuting into a sharp ache. Thomas's eyes met mine, and joy leapt into them.

"Well, my darlings, that seems clear enough!" He stepped forward and plucked me up into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed, love. Lucille, if you please?" He nodded calmly to the staircase, urging her to precede us.

"Put your arms around me, wife." He nuzzled his nose into my hair, kissing my temple as I obeyed.

"Husband," I said tartly, "I am perfectly capable of walking down the stairs on my own feet, you know...."

Lucille smiled back over her shoulder.

"Oh, let him carry you Edith, it makes him feel useful..."

"Useful is it, sister? I'm glad to know that you think I have some use..." he teased.

My laugh was cut short by another pain. Thomas paused and watched me carefully.

"You mustn't hold your breath, my love." he said tenderly, and I gasped, only then realizing that I had indeed been holding it. It literally took my breath away, that pain. I found myself panting in response to Thomas's firm command to breathe, until the pain eased. Thomas began to move again as I sighed my relief and he felt me relax in his arms.

We crossed under the glass dome of the main hall and Thomas paused again as I had another pain. When it was over, he glanced upward at the dawn colors streaking the sky through the glass, lavender and pink and orange.

"I do believe it will be a grand day to have a baby!"

I buried my face in his strong chest and nodded, taking a deep breath of his beloved scent.

"Please can I walk now, Thomas?" I squirmed uncomfortably, feeling too constrained in his arms.

"Alright, darling. The text said that walking is to be encouraged. If you will hold my arm." He looked at me sternly

I had no interest in disagreeing with him, for seconds later came another pain that nearly made my knees give out. Lucille appeared on my other side and they held my sagging body upright as I groaned through the sensation of a giant fist squeezing my body.

"Breathe, my darling," Lucille murmured. "It helps to relax, don't fight it, my love... We'll hold you." Lucille continued to whisper words of instruction and kindness into my ear as I was lost on a wave of pain and pressure.

"That's my good girl," Thomas murmured gently, and waited patiently for me to resume my trek. Our chamber at the end of the hall suddenly seemed miles away as I crept carefully toward it.

I lost count of the number of times I had to stop and endure, unable to believe the sounds that flowed from my mouth. It felt almost as if it were someone else mouthing those sounds, but somehow I knew it was me.

Just as we came to the doorway another ripping pain came, a deep groan pulling from me and ending with a small grunt.

"Lucille," I whispered, "I need to relieve myself..."

She looked surprised, her eyes quickly finding Thomas's.

"Is there a great deal of pressure?" I blushed my reply at her bluntness.

"Come along to the bed first, Edith..." she began to move me in that direction.

"But I..."

Thomas interrupted me.

"Do as you're told, wife! It's into the bed with you!" Once again, Thomas lifted me and strode to the bed, barely waiting for Lucille to strip down the bed coverings. I cried out despite Thomas setting me down as if I were made of spun glass. I writhed as my body was seized by another paroxysm. Thomas pushed my nightdress up my thighs and breathed out heavily.

"Right, my love. I think we have a little something to take care of first!" He said with humor and no little surprise, his gaze riveted between my legs.

I tried to close my legs in a panic.

"What? But it's too soon! Lucille! You said it would take hours and hours..." I broke off as another sensation seized me, an overwhelming desire to bear down so strong that I screamed with it.

"Lucille, sit behind her, please. Hold her up." Thomas commanded and jerked his chin at me. He quickly crossed to the basin and ewer on my dresser, pushing the sleeves of his dressing gown up and washing his hands.

The pain passed, but the pressure remained as I panted, bewildered. Lucille climbed onto the bed behind me and propped my head on her shoulder.

"It did take hours and hours. For me. Evidently, you will do things your own way, Edith!" She clucked humorously. "So headstrong!"

I could vaguely feel Thomas massaging me as another blinding need to push rose with another scream. I panted, it burned!

"Gently, Edith!" Thomas urged, but I was having none of that. My body utterly overtook me and I felt a great slithering rush between my legs and a loud cry, not my own.

Thomas laughed, a note of pure joy in his voice.

"You have a son, Edith! A perfect boy! No need to slap this little chap into life!" Thomas chuckled over outraged cries.

Lucille's own laugh rang with joy as Thomas lifted the lustily crying babe from between my legs and set him on my chest.

"Hold your son, my love..." My arms wrapping reverently around the small squirming, wet body, he fetched cloths, string and scissors, picking up a blanket and returning to lay it over the child.

All the words I had left me save, "Oh look, oh look!" I exclaimed in wonder, at the squalling miracle in my arms.

"Look, indeed! He's beautiful, and so are you, my love." Thomas kissed my damp brow. "You are a marvel, my wife..."

Lucille's face was buried behind my ear, her tears soaking my neck, her arms sheltering me and a hand on the squirming babe on my chest. I lifted him.

"Sister, will you hold our son...?" I passed him into her tender arms.

The baby's cries ceased immediately as his fist found its way into his mouth and he began to suckle it.

We all chuckled at his enthusiasm. I felt a last cramp, and the afterbirth slid from me.

"Thomas," Lucille admonished, "your work is not yet done!"

Thomas promptly took over tidying our mess away, tying the cord and cutting our son free from his tether, removing the afterbirth and cleaning us. Once we were all tucked up in clean bedding and all settled, he lay next to us, kissing all three of us. Three!

"Well husband," I said, "here is your son. He looks like his papa, don't you think?" I passed the baby into his willing arms.

"What will you name him?" I asked curiously.

Thomas regarded his boy thoughtfully, at last lifting his eyes to us, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

His gaze moved from me to Lucille and back to the baby.

"We're breaking all the traditions in this family," he said softly. "I think we will name him... William."


End file.
